Breakable
by Aya Salim
Summary: Sometimes when you think the job is done, it turns out that it's just getting started. Tag to Heartache (8x03). Takes place after the conversation between Dean and Sam in the car at the end of the Episode. Hurt!Dean and a lot of angst for the two brothers. Longer summary inside.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** First of all, for everyone who reviewed my last story "**I Gotcha, Brother**", Thank You So Much! You guys Rock and your reviews keep me going :) Sorry if I couldn't reply to the few of you who don't have accounts on the site, I didn't know how to reach you, so thanks :)

Well, I was asked to write a tag to this episode (8x03), Hurt Dean, since a bunch of the fans thought that after he almost got his heart ripped out of his chest there could be more to the story, you know. So here I am with my own version of what could've happened after. I hope you like it, guys *hugs*.

And since my DEAR awesome friend, Rana (aka **Folka**) was the one to ask for this tag, I dedicate this story to her as a small present for her Graduation :) **Congratulation once again, Babe **

Now I'll quit rambling hehehe :D

**Summary: **Sometimes when you think the job is done it turns out that it's just getting started. After killing Randa Moreno, the person with Brick Holmes's heart, and stopping the deal's influence over the remaining people with his organs, Dean and Sam hit the road expecting the job was over as the following events prove them wrong. Hurt!Dean and a lot of angst including both brothers ahead.

**Spoiler:** Heartache 8x03 - Season 8.

**Disclaimer:** I own only this story, not Dean nor Sam .. more's the pity.

**Asya:** Thanks, babe for beta'ing the chapter and the awesome support

* * *

**- Breakable - **

**Chapter 1**

It was starting to suffocate him. The tension accompanied by the thick silence, Dean could have sworn he can cut through with a knife and was starting to hurt him. It felt like the pressure was beginning to wrap around his whole body like a blanket, waiting for a chance to crush his bones.

From the corner of his eyes he could see his brother giving him a last glance before staring once again outside the window at something that apparently only he could see. Dean heard the catch in his brother's breath; he was always able to recognize the funny pattern Sam's breathing seemed to follow every time the kid was trying his best to keep his emotions, or tears, at bay. Yet he decided that he would do nothing about it. He just didn't have it in him to comfort his kid brother right now. He was tired—bone-deep _tired_.

Aside from the white hot, blinding pain he felt as the freaking stripper was trying to rip his heart out of his chest, when she _touched_ him it felt like there was some sort of an icy liquid that seeped from her fingers into his skin; dividing into so many tiny snakes that invaded his body mercilessly, crawling their way beneath his skin and sat his blood on fire before it was all gone just as fast as it started, and the only thing he was left with was utter exhaustion. Celebrating their successful hunt with the adrenaline still pumping through his vines were helping matters until —of course— Sam decided it was a good time to act like a bitch rather than have a moment of victory.

_"Dean, listen, when this is over … when we close up shops on Kevin and the tablet, I'm done. I mean that." _

All of it was like a déjà vu to him. He heard the same words eight years ago, back in Chicago; when Sam and him thought they were going after the yellow-eyed demon instead of a bunch of pain in the ass shadow monsters that some legend decided to call them Daevas. He still could hear Sam's voice in his head, clear as a bell, as he told him that he would have to let him go on his own way once it was all over.

So why was he surprised? It was beyond him. Maybe because after everything they've been through together Dean couldn't see another life outside the hunting life, fighting evil with his brother by his side. Maybe because —despite the plan to shut the gates of Hell and banish all the demons off of the face of earth— he still didn't believe the danger would abate. He knew there would be always something lurking in the dark, always something threatening people's life, and there will always be people to save. It was never going to end, at least for him. That much he knew.

His brother was different, though. Sam never wanted this life; he always lingered to normal life, a darkness-free one. He always seemed trying to prove that, in every chance he got, in several ways that Dean still tried to justify them in something else. He walked away several times that Dean refused to count anymore. And the worst part of all was that Sam never tried to look for him when his luck shoved him into the frigging hole of the Purgatory because Sam was finally getting a shot at the life he had always wanted.

"_Dean, the year that I took off, I had something I've never had: a normal life. I got to see what that felt like. I want that. I had that."_

His heart throbbed once, but not because of his encounter with Randa, the stripper, a few hours ago. Pain he was used to. In fact, pain was good. Pain meant reality to him. It was the only thing that helped him separate between what was real and what was not through the whole past year that it almost became one of his special ammos.

As for the other kind of pain, that was the kind he didn't have the capacity to deal with. His chest was getting tight with heavy emotions, with betrayal. He tried so damn hard to let this one go, but he still couldn't. His heart still ached despite the hollowness that was spreading wide inside of him day by day ever since he got out from the Purgatory—scratch that, he couldn't remember when it had started anymore.

Dean shifted in his seat, trying to find a more comfortable position but he found none. Tightening one hand around the steering wheel of the Impala, he reached with the other one and switched on the radio. He saw Sam almost jump at the sudden sound of _Klaus Meine'_s voice as it blared out of the radio blasting the car. He shot him a look, noticing dry traces of tears on his little brother's cheeks, who stared at the radio for a moment before staring out of the window, _again_.

Dean sighed; he didn't even know what was causing the sorrow he saw in Sam's eyes in that brief glance, let alone being able to make it better for him. He was gone for a _year_, and for all he knew, it was an eventful one for his brother, which made it harder to tell what was going on in his brother's head.

The distance between them was getting wider with each passing moment. And what hurt the most was that neither of them seemed willing to cross it; Dean couldn't just _shake off_ a year of running for his life, fighting to get back to his brother, the brother who didn't try to find him and simply accepted that he was dead and moved on with his own.

Sam's head wasn't really in the game, not fully anyway. All his thoughts, the way he was acting, even his body language were betraying his need to leave it all behind no matter what he said. Dean could feel him trying to hold on too tight only to let go when everything ends. Neither of them seemed ready to fall back into the normal rhythm —as normal as it could get for them anyway— of how their relationship was before. Before Bobby died, before he went to Purgatory, and before Sam met his girl. Hell, a long time ago, before so much happened, so many tragedies, if Dean was being honest to himself.

He sighed again, trying to steady his breathing and ease the burn that was suddenly diffusing from his heart to his chest and belly. Using the distraction the music provided, he started to tap his thumbs against the strong leather of the steering wheel along with the beats of the song.

"_In the game of life, the strong survive. We're on a one-way street, we're gonna make out alive … and never let 'em drag us down, in the game of life. We live and die, another breath begins … another chance to win the fight, from the moment that we hit the ground …_,"

xxxxxxx

Sam could feel his brother fidgeting next to him. He wasn't sure whether he was working to find a more comfortable position or trying to ride out the negative emotions his speech from a few minutes ago must have triggered. He didn't try to do anything about it, though. He wasn't able to decode Dean's actions or follow the stream of his thoughts as easily as he used to.

Dean has been different since he came back, which was to be expected. It was never easy for him to fall asleep, and when he did he was always a fraction away from consciousness, and it only lasted for an hour, barely two. He was edgy and far sharper than he used to be, which was to be expected as well. But aside from that, this time Sam was sure there was something that Dean chose not to tell him about. Not a story of a torture that he endured or something of that sort. No, it was more like a secret. That was what Sam hadn't expected this time. _And look where secrets had taken us,_ Sam sighed.

In addition to all of that, Dean always seemed to be gunning for a fight, which Sam actually considered as his right. After all, he ran. He ran and turned his back on Dean, letting him live one of the worst nightmares he could ever imagine, for a whole freaking year.

He failed royally to save his brother, _again_. He couldn't save his brother from Hell, and he didn't even give it a try to save him from the Purgatory, as he discovered from Dean … one year later. Sam knew he should've looked for his brother when he disappeared, or at least start with finding Kevin Tran. Yet, he couldn't do either. He didn't really have an option, he had no one to turn to and ask for help. Bobby… gone. Cas… gone with Dean and Dick Roman to God knows where. He could only assume that the two of them were dead. He was wrecked. Devastated. Lonely in every sense of the word.

Sam knew if the places had been switched Dean would have stopped at nothing to try to find him. Even death wouldn't have stopped him, it hadn't before. But he wasn't as strong as his brother, he knew. Dean had that sheer will that could do the impossible and beyond when it came to Sam, which Sam simply didn't have. He had already lost faith in himself when he failed to save Dean from the death contract he signed for Sam's life. He practically had almost ended the world. He had been walking around with no soul, doing everything the other Sam would have never done. His brain had been a mush and Dean had to struggle with him, _for him_, to put things right. To fix him. He let Dean down in many ways that he stopped counting along the way. He was no use for Dean. He was no use for anybody.

How the hell was he supposed to find his brother? How the hell was he supposed to fix things the way his brother always did?

He was tired of struggling, tired of blowing everything up, of letting Dean down, again and again. He was so tired of it all. He desperately needed out, he needed to finish this; once and for all so he could be able to live the life he always wanted. The life he experienced in the past year. He wanted a future, for him and for his brother. He wanted an actual life! Though he knew Dean only cared about hunting, giving himself up for the greater good, he still hoped he might change his mind at some point.

A hot tear slid down his face but he made no effort to wipe it. Another followed and he still did nothing about it. His eyes were glued to the road, to the dark scenery behind the glass that was passing unnoticed until the radio was suddenly turned on startling him. Sam dared a quick glance in his brother's direction when he saw Dean's eyes were eyeing him in concern, before he turned his eyes to the radio for a long moment.

He gave a slight nod without looking at Dean, which his brother wouldn't be able to see in the dark of the night anyway, then looked back outside the window. He heard Dean's weary sigh before he closed his eyes and rested his head against the seat. Sam spent a minute trying to match the name of the singer to the voice that was coming out from the radio as a way to escape too much thinking, but he failed miserably. Despite the irony, he let the music and the low rumple of the Impala cut through his thoughts and lull him into a light doze.

"_You're born to hunt and never run away … and then you're hunted by the prey. The wounded deer leaps highest to the sun until his day is done…"_

**_- To be continued .. _**

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**Song:** The Game of Life - Scorpions.

- I hope you liked it, guys :) Should I continue this?! Let me know and review *HUGS*

**Aya**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **To everybody who reviewed the last chapter, thank you so much!

This chapter is longer, and we're reaching somewhere in the story, so I really hope you enjoy it like the first one. This one is from Dean's POV, unlike the previous one, 'cos I didn't see any other way to get it done without going any longer, and you'll understand why. I hope you got not problem with that :)

**Summary: **Sometimes when you think the job is done it turns out that it's just getting started. After killing Randa Moreno, the person with Brick Holmes's heart, and stopping the deal's influence over the remaining people with his organs, Dean and Sam hit the road expecting the job was over as the following events prove them wrong. Hurt!Dean and a lot of angst including both brothers ahead.

**Spoiler:** Heartache 8x03 - Season 8.

**Warning: **For a bit of language.

**Disclaimer:** I own only this story, not Dean nor Sam .. more's the pity.

**Beta:** No one re-edited this chapter but me, so forgive me for any mistakes. :)

* * *

**- Breakable - **

**Chapter 2  
**

_"It was like drowning, only from the inside out." ~ Stephen King_

A couple of hours later Dean was stopping the car in front of another motel in another state, which he didn't pay much attention to know its name. Sam dozed off in the passenger seat once again after he woke up and asked about where they were; Dean simply shrugged and informed him that they just got out from Colorado, before his brother decided to take another nap.

Dean wasn't sure whether to envy his brother for his ability to get some rest and sleep everything off, or be grateful that Sam—with some sort of a miracle—wasn't awake to witness the two times he had almost got them both killed when his vision momentarily whitened out, making him lose control on the car, which swerved off the road dangerously before he was able to put it back on its track. On a second thought, he knew he should be grateful that this way he wouldn't have to deal with Sam afterwards.

His hands started shaking about an hour ago, forcing the weary young man to tighten his grip around the steering wheel even more. The fire his heart has been pumping to the rest of his body with his blood wasn't there anymore; instead, his heart throbbed with each beat. Even the simple act of breathing was getting harder and the deeper he inhaled the more it hurt, so he just stuck to shallow breaths and a deep one every now and then.

Not completely sure the reason behind what he was feeling; Dean concluded it might be exhaustion was starting to, finally, take a toll on him. Not only the complete exhaustion that he started to feel a while ago, but also as a result for the past few days. He couldn't actually remember when the last time he had a shut eye without the slightest sound making him jolt awake in the bed was. He couldn't remember either when the last time he and Sam had a decent meal was besides catching a cup of coffee and a bite of something here and there before sprinting back into action.

His stomach lurched at the mention of food and he thought it wasn't the smartest thing to think about right now. He debated taking a pill or two of whatever painkiller they had for his bounding head but decided against it. He still had a few miles to get to the nearest exit and he was losing focus as it is. He was half tempted to wake Sam up and tell him to take over the wheel and drive to the nearest motel he could find, but he was smart enough to know that it would make his brother start hovering.

In fact, Dean was more afraid that Sam would _not_ start hovering. After all, Sam had told him earlier that Dean didn't need him. That he was able to take care of himself and—as Sam put it—it would be best if he was hacking and slicing through the world's crap _alone_.

_Yeah, right._ _Like that had worked out just fine before! _Dean thought bitterly. His heart gave a twinge, a lump formed in his throat blocking his airway as his mind drifted to every time he had to learn how to live without his brother and how he had failed miserably each time. When his breath hitched, getting caught in his throat, and his eyes stung from unshed tears, he forced the thoughts to the back of his memory where they safely belonged and chided himself for even going there.

Sam stirred awake when the rumple of the Impala faded as his brother killed the engine. A soft snort slipped free from Dean's mouth before he could stop himself; the lack of the car's soothing vibration woke his brother up but not almost going off the road and taking the car into a nosedive. He saw Sam blinking sleep out from his eyes, proceeding to adjust in his seat and stretched his long frame as possible as the small space would allow him with a low groan.

The elder hunter gave his brother a couple of minutes to take in his surroundings while he let his grip around the wheel loosen, pressing his hands flat on his thighs to ward off the shaking that didn't want to leave him quite yet.

"Get us a room while I retrieve our bags, would ya?" Dean told his brother, giving him a quick once-over. Sam nodded obediently and got out from the car, taking a minute to stretch his body before he entered the building to check them in.

Once Sam was out of sight Dean dropped his head forward, let his forehead rest against the wheel and sighed heavily. He was sure it was his thousand sigh for only tonight. He relished the feeling of not being forced to hold himself up for a moment and tried to take several deep breaths since he was starting to feel a bit lightheaded. Resiting the urge to just keel over across the front seat and spend the night in his beloved car, the oldest Winchester opened his door weakly and got out.

Although the cool air of the midnight was refreshing, once Dean was standing his left hand went to grip the roof of the car instantly as the world titled around him. He closed his eyes for a moment, willing the world to stop spinning. When he could feel the dizziness lessen he opened his eyes and closed his door with a creek. He walked on shaky legs towards the trunk and opened it, using the car frame for support all the time in case the world decided to have some fun again.

By the time Dean got their bags out of the trunk, with more effort than he would ever admit, Sam was back and walking towards him. His brother took his bag from him, ushering with the keys towards their room without saying a word. Dean was relieved he wouldn't have to walk too much or climb any stairs until they reached their room. He let his younger brother lead the way and once the door was open he almost stumbled inside, dropping his bag on to the bed closest to the door, which looked almost seducing given how crappy he was feeling right now. If he could think of anything beyond exhaustion, he would double it then start wondering if it would be close.

All he wanted at that instant was to crawl into the bed, bury his head into the pillow and let oblivion devour him. And because we don't always get what we wish for, let alone a _Winchester_, Dean knew he would have to take a shower first, change into something clean instead of the shirt that was still stained with his own blood before he got to lie down. He retrieved a gray clean T-shirt and a pair of clean sweatpants from his bag then stomped off to the bathroom, calling the first shower and slammed the door more forcefully than he intended to without waiting for an answer from his brother.

Finally alone, Dean leaned against the door, lacking the strength to move. He closed his eyes and waited. After a good five minutes or so, he knew his legs wouldn't hold him up very much longer and that's why he needed to hurry. He slipped out from his boots then took off his jacket stiffly and threw it on the floor next to the sink base, the rest of the clothes following suit.

Turning on the hot water to maximum, he got under the shower and let out a breathy sigh of relief at the feeling of the hot water against his skin. His relief didn't last long, though. As the hot water slid down his chest and over the spot above his heart, Dean leapt to the side and almost slipped on the wet shower floor at the needles sensation the hot water caused as it slid down where he _remembered_ he was hurt.

In the middle of everything, he had forgotten about his injury, and right now he wasn't really interested to do anything about it. He has had worse anyway and he made it through just fine. Besides, he wasn't going to waste too much needed energy over walking outside the room to get the first-aid kit from the trunk and walk back in. Cleaning it with soap and water would do, he decided, not bothering to inspect the wound and see if there was any damage that needed tending.

By the time he miraculously got clean and dressed, Dean was drained. His heart was racing, he was sweating pockets even though he just got out of the shower, and was dizzy beyond belief. Though, he still insisted it was just the exhaustion and reached his hands towards the small rough towel that rested on the broken rim above the sink. For one terrifying moment his hand couldn't close over the material of the towel. Dean sucked in a ragged breath and tried again. On the third try, his fingers finally closed over the towel, the thought that he would be damned if that didn't scare him just a little bit wasn't lost on him. Finally, he dried off some of the sweat that still kept coming while using the sink for support to keep himself from falling. Once he raised his head and came face to face with his reflection in the mirror, Dean was taken aback by the view that greeted him.

He was surprised to find himself so pale all of the sudden, well, not all of the sudden. He noticed the pallor of his face when he first got into the bathroom but it wasn't that _bad_ so he just ignored it. His reflection stared back at him; face ghostly white, dark circles surrounded his eyes which were bloodshot and kind of glassy. Dean took a deep breath as he put the towel down and splashed his face with cold water. He hung his head low, both hands moving to grip the two sides of the sink tightly and closed his eyes.

The world was spinning madly around him, making his head bound even more as a tingling sensation began creeping up from his fingertips to his arms, heading directly towards his heart. He still could feel his heart racing, and he couldn't hear anything above the rushing blood in his ears. He grasped at the porcelain even tighter, knuckles whitening in the process and leaned his lower body to the sink, using the support it offered to hold himself up.

It was the closest thing he had ever experienced to the time when he had the heart-attack after he was electrocuted a long time ago. And if that didn't freak him out, he didn't know what would. Dean clenched his jaw against the tremor that shot through his body and almost brought him to his knees, squeezing his closed eyes tightly as his breath came out in strangled buffs of air.

"No!" Dean hissed from between clenched teeth, not fully aware that it was said out loud. He was just about to call out for his brother before everything he was feeling was gone, as if someone had switched a button off. His legs gave way with the sudden relief and he fell to the floor on his side with a muffled thud. He didn't trust his legs to hold him up just yet, so he gave himself a couple of minutes to regain some of the strength that he doubted was still left in him, then tried to climb to his feet with the support the sink still provided.

Once upright, Dean stole a quick glance at his reflection and could have sworn that he had gone even paler. The weary hunter wasn't feeling up to face his brother right then, but he knew he would eventually have to get out of the bathroom and face the world. He took a deep breath, slipping his usual mask back in place, hoping it wasn't too transparent, and opened the door. He saw Sam's head snap up at the sound of the door clicking open before the younger Winchester stopped pacing near the small table in the far corner of the room. Dean turned his head away and centered his eyes on his target, straightening his body as much as he could and walked towards the bed as steadily as his tired body allowed him to.

Sam's eyes were following him, tracing his movements; Dean didn't have to see him to know that he was doing it. Just as he was about to drop himself face-first onto the bed, he heard Sam's hesitant and low "You okay?"

"Fine," Dean said tiredly without looking at his brother, grimacing at how weak his voice sounded to his ears.

"You sure?" _Here we go._ Dean thought irritably, ignoring the voice in his head that ordered him to stop thinking that Sam didn't care about him anymore. He was about to answer when his brother whispered, "You look kinda pale there,"

_That's it. Sam asked for it. _

"Oh, what? You care all of the sudden?" Dean asked in a mock surprise. He knew he was being lame, but he just couldn't help it. He heard his brother's sigh then the deep breath that was always followed by something Sam was tired of saying over and over.

"Of course I do, Dean," Sam said patiently, brows furrowing in frustration.

"Yeah?" Dean turned to face him, wondering where the energy was coming from given that fact that he wasn't able to stand on his own not five minutes ago. "Right! My bad," He shot heatedly, smiling in a fake apology.

Dean was waiting for this moment, he needed it. He was waiting for Sam to push it so he could punch him in the face and not feel so bad about it. But he could tell that Sam knew what Dean was looking for and that the little bastard wouldn't let himself fall for it and give him that precious chance that easy.

"Get some rest," Sam said coldly, looking him dead in the eyes then turned and walked towards the door as he said "I'll go get a beer." over his shoulder. Dean knew it was now or never, and he would be damned if he didn't use this for his advantage.

"Yeah, yeah. Go on, Sam. Turn your back like you always do," He called after his brother, making a show of preparing the bed. "Not like it isn't your style or something." He added sarcastically.

Sam spun around so fast, facing him. "What the hell, man?!" _Bingo_.

"What?" Dean answered, faking innocence as he looked back at his brother. "Did I hit a nerve or something?"

"What the fuck is your problem, Dean?" Sam shouted, losing what little temper he had and took a couple of steps towards his big brother.

"Isn't that pretty obvious?" Dean was getting what he wanted, even though he knew he would regret all of it later, but right now it didn't matter. His anger simply won. His aching need to fight, to break it to Sam and make him see who he really was—a hunter, and never something else—was taking over him, washing away whatever guilt he knew he was supposed to be feeling for beating the crap out of his brother over and over again even when he had all the rights to.

Dean needed to let his brother see how much his choices had cost them, how much they affected their brotherhood and shook the barely-there trust they already had. He needed Sam to see how bad they _cut_ into him.

"My fucking problem is _you_!" He shouted back.

Sam scowled at him, flinching back as if the words had physically hit him. He opened his mouth to probably shout again but Dean beat him to it.

"One minute you tell me I would be better off alone facing whatever the hell we face every day, the next you say you care!" Dean took a step forward, drawing energy from the anger that was blossoming inside his chest. "One minute you're in, the next you want out even if you don't actually say it. If you want to run back to your girlfriend so bad, then get the hell on it already! No one is forcing you to stay!"

They were almost screaming, Dean thought, and they had a little time to yell at each other as much as they could before the motel manager came in to threaten them to keep quiet or he would kick them out. And he was going to use every ounce of time he got.

"No one is forcing me to stay? Are you fucking kidding me, Dean?" Sam exclaimed incredulously, completely losing control. "_You _have been beating the crap out of me since you got back for quitting hunting, and _you_ dragged my ass back into it! Just like before!" Sam pointed his finger at Dean accusingly; he was visibly shaking with anger now.

Dumbfounded, Dean drew his head back in surprise at that. _Just like before? _ He wondered how long his brother would still blame him for the life he was living, for the life he couldn't have.

The oldest Winchester took another step forward, coming almost toe to toe with the younger one. "You know it damn well, Sam! Just the way you know your own fucking name. Once you're in, there's no way out!" Dean hissed dangerously, feeling the blood rushing to his cheeks.

"There _is_ a way out." Sam hissed back in a challenging tone. "I was _out_! For a whole year,"

"Yeah," Dean nodded, narrowing his eyes at his brother. "You were out while I was, _literally,_ a walking food for every fucking creature on the mother of earth!"

He didn't know where he was going with this, he didn't know what to expect from Sam. He didn't even know what to expect from himself either. The nagging voice that kept telling him that he would regret this moment came back with a bang to his heart.

"That's where the problem lies, Dean!" Sam half shouted half whined, throwing his arms in the small space between them. "If you insist we work on this _together_, then you _have to_ get over this!"

_Get over this! Is he fucking kidding me?!_ Dean pushed down whatever big brother's instincts he had that would stop him from saying what he was about to say, what he knew was going to lead to something they both wouldn't like.

"Easy for you to say," He snarled, tightening his jaw once, hands forming tight fists at his sides. "You weren't the one running for your life for a year while I was so busy banging this Amelia chick!" He bit out with venom lacing his tone.

The part of him he was trying so hard to ignore all along made him regret the words the second they came out from his mouth but he knew it was too late to take them back. Either ways, he wouldn't take them back because the other part that was controlling him at the moment didn't want to.

The words echoed between the brothers for a long suffocating moment, other words just got trapped in their throats. Sam stared at his brother with an expression of deep hurt. Dean saw tears swimming in his brother's eyes as he stubbornly refused to offer them any kind of release and it made his heart clench for being the reason for these tears in his brother's eyes, the tears he has been wiping with his own hands all his life. But then the feeling was gone, and he found himself staring at the man in front of him with one of those looks that he knew if they could kill, Sam would be dead by now.

It never ceased to amaze Dean how his brother was capable of changing his face's expression so fast. And it was when he saw Sam's features change from hurt to furious in less than five seconds that Dean started to lose his resolve as it hit him in the face what they were both throwing at each other.

With his anger retreating, and regret coming back at him full force, Dean's exhausted body chose that moment to let itself known. His heart gave a twinge, shooting a tremor of something akin to electricity through the rest of his body. The young man still didn't want to listen to his body as it desperately screamed in its own way for too much needed rest. He still refused to back down right now despite whatever regret he was feeling.

A hell of a mixer was going inside of him. Too many Jumbled thoughts. Too many crossed feelings. Things he knew he should do and the things his old self would do were at war against the only thing he knew how to do right now. Dean wished if the floor could open up underneath his feet and swallow him up, away from the eyes that were staring at him at the moment. He wished if he could just run away and put as much distance as he could between himself and his brother. Before he said more things to regret, and before Sam said things that would just slice him up in the unique way his brother's words was always able to do.

"Go to Hell!" It came out in a strained snarl from his younger brother after a long moment of silence that had almost made Dean think Sam finally resigned to him.

Dean blinked at his brother as his vision blurred and started to see everything in double. "I did," he said matching Sam's tone and turned around, proceeding to walk towards the bed, away from his brother, away from the whole world.

"For you," He whispered unconsciously, wondering what the hell had got into him and made him start this fight in the first place. He was suddenly _too tired_; every part of his body was shaking uncontrollably, and his heart began beating so fast again, or maybe it was all the time but he just chose to ignore it. The room was sat in a maddening spinning around him, which forced him to keep blinking furiously.

Dean couldn't help but wonder whether Sam was still there, watching him fighting desperately for control, or had already left the room and he was standing there _alone_. Losing his focus on his surroundings around the bounding in his head, he promoted himself not to lose the battle against his body quite yet. _If_ Sam was still standing a few feet away, he wouldn't lose it in front of him.

He wouldn't let his pathetic ass turn the situation to his benefit this way. He had started that fight, even though Sam's words had provoked him to do it, still he wouldn't have done it if he didn't really want to. Toppling over and ending up in a jumbled mess on the floor after having an _almost_ fair and square fight with his brother was something he would never allow to happen.

Reaching out blindly to the bed's headboard, Dean's fingers closed onto nothing and he felt himself shutting down as everything faded to black before he even knew it. He never felt when he started to fall, never felt when his head got cracked open against the nightstand that stood between the two narrowed-size beds, and he never felt the two long, strong arms that saved him from hitting the floor in the last second.

...

_**-To be continued..**_

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- Eh, cliffy much? Couldn't resist it. *Evil Grin* Don't forget to tell me what you think and review to know what happens next! ;)

**Aya**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **Thank you SO much to everyone who reviewed the previous chapter! You guys are EPIC! And sorry I couldn't reply to the few of you who don't have accounts on the site, so here .. thank you so much :)

Well, this chapter was really HARD to write, I don't know whether I'm kinda off my game these days or because it's juiced with too much emotions that weren't exactly easy to write down. Either ways, I hope you like it and find it satisfying and worth the wait.

**Summary: **Sometimes when you think the job is done it turns out that it's just getting started. After killing Randa Moreno, the person with Brick Holmes's heart, and stopping the deal's influence over the remaining people with his organs, Dean and Sam hit the road expecting the job was over as the following events prove them wrong. Hurt!Dean and a lot of angst including both brothers ahead.

**Spoiler:** Heartache 8x03 - Season 8.

**Disclaimer:** I own only this story, not Dean nor Sam .. more's the pity.

**Beta:** No one re-edited this chapter but me, so forgive me for any mistakes. :)

* * *

**- Breakable - **

**Chapter 3**

_"It's strange how pain marks our faces, and makes us look like family." ~Stephen King_

"Go to Hell!"

Sam spat at Dean, breaking the thick silence that hung in the air between the both of them, hurt giving way to anger and effectively winning the battle of the mix of emotions going inside him. His brother was an expert at pushing all his buttons and intensifying the rage he always tried so badly to bury under many layers of control. He was the only person on earth—besides their dad—who was able to get under his skin this way.

It was the fact that the young man knew his brother was right that made Dean's words hurt even more. Try as he might he knew he would never be able to forgive himself for letting his brother down, especially this time. And unfortunately, Dean wouldn't miss a chance to remind him of his failure, which wasn't really necessary because he was already beating himself up for it almost all the time ever since his brother came back.

It was Dean's right, Sam kept telling himself, and he could be pissed at him and bitch about it all he wanted even though it hurt like Hell. But there were some moments when it was just too much to take anymore. Moments like this one, when the words that were being thrown at you were aimed to only hurt, and as much as possible.

"I did,"

The youngest Winchester saw the older one blink at him, either in disbelief or in an attempt to force back a headache or dizziness, he didn't really know, much less cared. The pain his brother's words inflected was laced with blind rage that blocked his ability to give a shit about anything in the entire Goddamn world for the time being and Sam was barely keeping himself in check. If he wasn't so sure that only one push would be enough to knock his brother on his ass, he would be taking several swings at him right now.

All he was trying to do was to check on Dean and make sure he was alright. The shaky legs that hardly held his brother up weren't gone unnoticed, the ghostly whiteness that was etched on Dean's face—which wasn't there two hours ago—was hard to avoid. The fact that it took his brother over an hour to shower and get dressed meant only one of two things: either Dean was hurt—which would have made the process of cleaning up more difficult for him than it was supposed to be—or he was too mad at Sam to choose staying in a small, probably dirty bathroom, over staying with him in the same room. Sam knew it was most likely the first, not like it was his first time to spot one of his stubborn-pain-in-the-ass-for-a-brother's hidden injuries.

And what it all led up to, him and Dean mentally stabbing one another with piercing knives, drawing their anger and hurt at each other while each one of them was drowning in his thoughts and own version of sorrow.

Sam watched as Dean turned around, giving him his back and putting an end to the conversation. Shaking his head and turning around as well, the youngest Winchester walked to the door and wrapped his fingers around the handle. He desperately needed to get out of the room before the walls closed in on him and smothered him, to run in the open until his lunges screamed with fire and his legs tore up with exertion. He was ready to take off before he heard his brother's strained whisper—_barely_.

"For you,"

It was how his brother voiced it that made him turn around. Despite how badly he hurt, he couldn't just ignore _this_ tone. The tone that was full of confusion, hurt, guilt and_ pain_, all in the same time, and other things he never knew how to interpret. The tone that was only spoken by when the true face of Dean Winchester was crawling its way up to the surface, breaking through Dean's several masks and walls of defense. The lost and broken face Sam always wished he would never be forced to deal with.

Dean swayed in front of him, yet he seemed determined to reach the bed before he fell over except that he didn't quite make it. The young hunter watched with anxiety as Dean began to lose control and started to fall when his body finally let him down. The headache that was building up in the back of his head made Sam blink a few times as his vision slightly blurred and the scene in front of him seemed to unfold in slow motion. The muffled thud of his brother's head connecting with the nightstand that stubbornly stood between the two beds snapped him out from his daze and before his brain even registered moving, he found himself catching his brother and saving him from hitting the floor, averting extra harm it could add to the elder man's overtaxed body, in the last second.

"Dean!" Sam nearly growled, lowering himself to the floor in a crouch and laying his unconscious brother gently on the floor. Dean's head lolled slightly to the side giving Sam a clear view of the thin line of blood that trickled from the cut along his hairline the painful contact with the nightstand had caused. The redness was striking as it trailed along Dean's stark white features, creeping down his left cheek and onto one of Sam's hands that had cupped Dean's face at some point.

"Shit!" The younger brother swore under his breath as he felt the trickle of the older one's blood running through his fingers. "Dean?" Sam was hovering above him, invading his personal space as he tapped his cheeks gently, trying to get a response from his unconscious brother and smearing blood on his face in the process. He heard a low groan forming deep in Dean's throat but aside from that, there was nothing.

Sam took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves and slow the rush of adrenaline flowing through his system as he tried to absorb the situation in hands. The anger and hurt were replaced by panic and anxiety too quickly for his brain to register what was going on, which made it harder for his mind to work as fast as Sam knew it should be. He willed himself to shut out everything, every thought and every source of distraction and focus on the too still form of his brother that lay between his hands on the floor.

Sorting through his priorities, he decided what he needed to do first and sprinted into action, forcing his body to get up and follow the instinct training that was, literally, drilled into his mind ever since he could remember. It took a couple of minutes and a few long strides from him to get out of their room, fetch the first aid-kit from the car's trunk and claim his position back on the floor between the two beds, next to his brother.

Cleaning a bloody cut and putting a couple of stitches into his brother's head became at some point as natural as having a dinner along the way the rough, ugly path their life had decided to choose for them before they were even born. Yet after all these years, Sam still felt _wrong_ he was able to do this so naturally, without even thinking, and so easily that it was almost an instinct, just like breathing.

Despite being grateful that Dean wasn't conscious to feel the pull of the needle and cord through his split skin, Sam couldn't help the panic and worry that were building up inside him every time he poked his brother with the needle and got no response in return. He didn't notice he was unconsciously following the same shallow pattern of his brother's breathing until his hands started to shake. Shoving down his emotions deep inside where he wouldn't have to deal with them in the meantime, the young man forced the air into his lungs and took several deep breathes before his hands stopped shaking and returned to his mission.

xxxxxx

He was drowning.

He felt like he was going under an ocean of darkness and anguish, waves of pain crashing against his body, each blow worse than the one before. Dean tried to breathe through the pain but something was straining him, making it impossible for him to draw anything into his lungs but fast and shallow agonizing breaths. The pull of the darkness was too strong as he fought so hard against the grasping hands that wanted to pull him under.

There was a distant sensation of something tugging at him, something familiar about the way it seemed to alter between holding him to poking and prodding him and then roughly shaking him. Unluckily, this feeling wasn't strong enough to pull him to the surface and out of the filthy water that was now filling his mouth and flowing freely inside him and made the pain anything but worse.

Desperately fighting for a breath, wishing for a release and for the torment that seemed to last for ages to back off for just a second, Dean thought he heard someone sobbing and calling his name as he felt a warm liquid streaming over his shoulder, joining the hot breeze blowing down his neck, but when he looked next to him he found nothing but darkness.

He wondered briefly whether he couldn't see anything because of the darkness enveloping him or because his eyes were simply closed. The idea of maybe he was just imagining all of it was the last thing that crossed his mind before he let out a weak sigh as if to punctuate some kind of a permission and surrendered to the darkness, allowing it to swallow him whole, hoping it would put him out of his misery and he would return to blissfully feeling nothing once again.

xxxxxx

"Freaking stubborn_ idiot!_" Sam voiced his thoughts as he tugged at his brother's T-shirt, which was drenched with cold sweat by then, trying to find the source of Dean's collapse and state after he was done cleaning the cut into his head and stitching it close. He tried to wake his brother up several times by shaking him, tapping his cheeks a bit not too gently and pinching the bridge of his nose painfully as well as the other spots that were supposed to force conscious back the way their father had taught them a long, long time ago. Still, Dean didn't even twitch.

As he recalled everything that happened that day, the scene of how their _simple_ hunt had ended flashed before Sam's eyes; his brother lying across the stage floor with two men tougher than they looked straining him and keeping him still as their target—the stripper, Randa— was above Dean, straddling him and trying to slowly squeeze the life out of him by ripping his heart out of his chest before Sam was able to fight off one of the men, distracting her and giving his brother the opening he was waiting for to save his own life.

He had meant then to check on his brother's injury—surely almost getting your heart ripped out of your chest would have left a nasty cut or two, but Dean waved him off and told him that he was fine, as usual. Just a scar or two, his brother said, even though he winced in obvious pain as he came to his feet… and for one of the rarest times in his life, Sam believed him.

Spending a year fighting mostly all the kinds of monsters ever existed with probably only his pair hands and no one to have his back—he doubted that Castiel was there so often from what his brother had told him—that would, slowly but surely, toughen his brother up even more, if possible, Sam rationalized.

Of course the trauma caused by almost getting torn apart and watching your heart beating in someone's else hand would be painfully unbearable but it would get to be called a regular day comparing to whatever his brother must have dealt with in Purgatory according to his brother's description and his screams of torment through the night hours he barely slept.

Sam closed his eyes and swallowed thickly as the realization downed hard on him. The thoughts he has been trying so hard not to dwell into were mercilessly ramming against each other in his head. The visuals of his brother's suffering the whole past year, which he hadn't even seen, were forcing their way into his brain.

And because horror and pain were two words that perfectly described their life, his mind didn't lack the ability to paint a picture or two to show him how Purgatory would look like, and how much his brother must have gone through in that place, weaponless and _alone_. Without anything to defend himself with—at first at least—and without someone to watch his back.

_Without him_.

And he still told Dean not a long time ago that he would leave him, _again, _once it all was over.

That Dean didn't need him and he'd be better off _alone_.

After a year of struggling… mostly on his own, to get back to _him_.

No matter how good his intentions were, it still must have gutted his brother to hear these words too soon.

_Right to the core! Perfect. Kick 'em when they're down, Sam! Couldn't at least wait a little longer before spilling your guts this way? _

The young man's eyes rested on his brother's white, _almost_ peaceful face for a long moment, biting down hard on his bottom lip in a failed attempt to control the wave of emotions that washed over him until he split his lip open and could taste the coppery taste in his mouth.

"God! Dean, I'm sorry!" Sam couldn't hold it any much longer; he broke into tears and choked sobs, wondering if his brother could hear him and hoping against hope that Dean would somehow wake up so he could look him in the eyes while he apologized to him.

"I'm so sorry!" His body shook, the tears choking him as he fought to breathe, all the time watching his brother's figure for a twitch, some kind of a sign that he was coming around, a sign that he was still here, still with him. But it never came, and Sam was starting to lose it. He didn't have enough strength into him to stop the sobs that involuntarily wrecked through his body.

Sam clasped his hand with Dean's cold one and lowered his forehead down where it gently rested on his brother's shoulder, needing the connection to ground him and keep him from falling inside himself. Apologizes flowed out from his mouth unconsciously, mixed with sobs of Dean's name.

He stayed where he was for a couple of moments, or maybe hours, days, he didn't really know. All he knew was that he should get a grip and hold it together because it was Dean who needed him right now and he couldn't chicken out on him. Not now.

Burying his head into his brother's shoulder and neck and inhaling into his sent like he would do when he was five, the youngest Winchester took a couple of deep breathes and exhaled against Dean's neck as he tried to calm himself down and stop the tears that was soaking his brother's T-shirt.

It was the closest physical contact to his brother he had ever had for several, long years and he couldn't help but wonder how Dean would act if he woke up now. A soft chuckle slipped from his mouth without thinking and only then Sam realized how much he had really missed Dean. He ended up fending off another wave of emotions but succeeding this time.

After his own shakings receded, Sam realized that Dean was shaking as well and he cursed himself for not moving him from the cold floor and on the bed earlier. Lifting his head off of his brother's shoulder, Sam was thrown away by the blue color of Dean's lips. He watched in horror as a weak sigh slipped from between his brother's semi parted lips before his panic hit the sky as Dean stopped breathing.

"No!" Sam choked out, moving two fingers to Dean's neck and nearly burst into tears all over again when he found a pulse. He leaned forward, parting his brother's lips and blow a wet breath into his mouth while he used his other hand to massage Dean's throat to clear his airway and force oxygen into his lungs. It didn't take him long to stop breathing for Dean as he gasped wildly, his back arching up slightly and fought to breathe on his own.

"That's it, Dean! Shh, just take a deep breath. It's okay, you got it. Yeah, that's it," The encouraging and soothing words flowed smoothly from Sam's mouth as he rolled his brother gently to his side so he could breathe easier. Dean gasped, coughed and gagged several times between shattered exhalations before he was able to get his breathing under control and inhaled greedily, savoring the sweetness of the air his lungs needed so bad.

When Dean finally settled down a bit, Sam watched him enduring a new fight to get his eyes to open. He waited patiently as Dean's eyelids fluttered, tightened and closed again before they were finally open to only mere slits of green that stared ahead, but not really seeing. He gently pushed the older man's shoulder, laying him on his back on the floor once again and searched his eyes for any kind of acknowledgment but all he saw was a set of two empty eyes that stared back at him, no sign of recognition in them.

"Dean?" Sam whispered; panic lacing his tone as he tried to bring his brother back to him and erase that look from his eyes. "Are you with me?"

Not even a blink.

"Dean?" Sam whispered again, his tone turning from a grown up man to a scared little kid. "Dean, please. Can you hear me?" His right hand fisted into Dean's T-shirt while the other one went to cup his neck.

He sat still in that position and waited, not like he had anything else to do at the moment. Squeezing his brother's neck and shaking him gently, Sam kept calling Dean's name, willing his voice to reach him wherever he was. He saw awareness creeping back to the sides of the oldest Winchester's eyes, his pupils regaining some color and he finally blinked.

"Sammy?" Sam saw Dean's lips move, forming the letters of his own name with barely audible sound.

"Hey," Relief washed over him when recognition found its way back to his brother's eyes and he let out the breath that he didn't realize he was holding, his lips stretching into a soft smile which didn't reach his eyes that still swum with tears. "Are you with me now?"

Dean's eyes were a bit wider now, more focused, but not fully. He tried to search the place around him but his eyes landed on Sam's arms instead and trailed up to his brother's face.

"What are you doing here?" Sam strained himself to hear Dean's breathless words even though his face was inches away from Dean's.

"What?" The youngest Winchester answered his brother's question with one of his own. He saw Dean swallowing convulsively before he repeated his question, a bit louder this time.

"What are you doing here?"

"What do you mean, Dean?" Sam was confused. Was his brother still not really with him? Was he still trapped in some kind of a nightmare inside his head? "I'm here, Dean. I didn't go anywhere." He didn't know what else to say.

"No," Dean shook his head ever so slightly, closing his eyes and furrowing his eyebrows in pain. "It's not real,"

"Hey, hey, man!" Sam tapped his brother's cheeks lightly; afraid he would lose him to unconsciousness once again.

"You're not real," Dean whispered and Sam didn't know what to say to that. He didn't know where his brother believed he was. _Maybe purgatory_, he thought. But again, there were too many Hellish places that Dean's brain wouldn't hesitate to visit and lock him down in their closed loop of torture.

"Dean, I'm real. You're real and you're here with me," He was rewarded this time with a blink from Dean's unfocused eyes as they opened again and locked with his. "You're here, man, okay? You're here and we're both lying on the cold floor and I'm almost straddling you and you should snap out of it because if anyone came through that door now, it would be a little awkward." Sam spoke fast, smiling nervously, trying to push the panic away as he played the role Dean should be playing, making a huge effort to lighten up the mood a bit and urge more awareness into his brother's senses because he could do this for only too long.

Dean blinked at him again; Sam's words seemingly finally finding a way to sink a little and triggering something into his eyes. Averting his gaze from his brother's, Dean searched the room around him, or what was visible from it anyway as Sam's huge frame loomed over him and filled his view.

"Why don't you get off of me then?" Dean told him in a tired voice, pushing weakly against his shoulder. Sam chuckled almost hysterically, giving Dean's neck a final squeeze before he backed away and out from his personal space.

"Here, let me help you," Sam stretched his hand out for Dean, who was already pushing himself into a sitting position and trying to get up.

"I got it," He said even though he still used Sam's support to help him to his feet. Dean's leg disappeared from under him once he was up and Sam was thankful he had a strong hold on his brother's waste despite his protest. By the time Sam lowered Dean into a sitting position on the bed, the oldest Winchester was more coherent and awake now and avoiding his gaze, looking anywhere but at him.

_Well, that's awkward_. Sam thought, slightly startled by his brother's demeanor. He lifted a hand up and scratched the back of his head in the nervous manner he had picked up from his brother along the way, trying to figure out what to do next.

He looked at Dean, who was fisting his hands into the mattress—obviously in pain, and wondered how he was going to break the ice between them. Unlike him, Dean didn't have the chance to calm his nerves and sort out his emotions, not that Sam had a real chance either, but at least he had a little time to deal with his anger and own pain to be able to help his brother. Dean on the other hand, the last thing he was aware of was Sam telling him to go to Hell before he fainted and knew nothing.

"Stay where you are, I'll be right back." Sam told him, finally breaking the silence before he turned and walked to the bathroom to wash his face and hands and get a fresh towel for Dean to clean the wound that he knew was there on his chest.

_Looks like it's gonna be a long night_, he sighed heavily.

_**-To be continued...**_

* * *

- And the fun hadn't even started yet. Hope you liked it! Let me know what you think and review to know what happens next. *Hugs*

**Aya**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **Well, hey there! To everyone who reviewed the previous chapter, followed the story and me, thank you so much!

Here's a new chapter for you and a little more Hurt Dean. This chapter isn't from any of the brother's POV all along but you'll find it mixed and I did that for a reason and to pick up the pace of the story a little bit, so I hope you enjoy!

**Summary: **Sometimes when you think the job is done it turns out that it's just getting started. After killing Randa Moreno, the person with Brick Holmes's heart, and stopping the deal's influence over the remaining people with his organs, Dean and Sam hit the road expecting the job was over as the following events prove them wrong. Hurt!Dean and a lot of angst including both brothers ahead.

**Spoiler:** Heartache 8x03 - Season 8.

**Warning: **For a bit of language.

**Disclaimer:** I own only this story, not Dean nor Sam .. more's the pity.

**Beta:** No one re-edited this chapter but me, so forgive me for any mistakes. :)

* * *

**- Breakable -**

**Chapter 4**

_"The thing with brothers is, you're supposed to take turns being the keeper. Sometimes you get to sit down and be the brother who is kept." _

_~Orson Scott Card_

Dean sat on the bed with his hands fisting the mattress as he watched Sam turn around and enter the bathroom. He knew Sam wanted him to stay put so he can check on his injury and he decided to let him do what he had to do because he didn't have the energy to put up a fight or argue with him.

What confused him was why Sam was still there, still with him. He thought he would leave after their little _argument_; or at least go for a walk if not running and leaving everything behind. It was how Sam reacted when things got too heavy to deal with anyway.

Dean almost squeezed his brain's cells, trying to fill the gap in his memories and remember what happened in the time between he was shouting at Sam and finding himself lying on the floor, Sam almost on top of him, but it was a blank and he came up empty. One thing he knew, he had freaked his little brother out, that was for sure. The dry traces of tears and the look in his brother's eyes were enough proof for him if the panic in Sam's tone that he didn't actually bother to muster wasn't anything to begin with.

Letting out a heavy sigh, Dean's eyes roamed the place around him, not really for any reason but distracting himself from the pain in his chest. He really, really wanted nothing but to curl on his side, call it a night and sleep everything off, but he knew that once Sam's mind was sat on something there was no way to escape. _Why does he even care?_ Dean couldn't help but wonder.

He heard the water turn off in the sink and looked up at his brother, still avoiding looking directly into his eyes. He noticed Sam's disappointment in the way his shoulders sagged in defeat and the sigh of frustration he let out and it made him feel guilty for causing Sam to feel this way, but he couldn't bring himself to look him in the eye after what he had told his little brother earlier. He just couldn't.

"So, how you wanna do this?" Sam asked for nothing really but as a try to cut through the tension and start a casual conversation with Dean, he grabbed one of the small table chairs and placed it next to the bed where his brother sat.

"Just do what you gotta do," Dean told him, looking down and finding his feet really interesting at the moment.

"All right," Sam sighed and nodded. "Can you take your T-shirt off?"

Dean nodded silently and took a deep breath before his hands reached to the hem of his T-shirt and pulled it off; stifling a groan at the effort it took to do just that. Despite his distress he didn't miss Sam's harsh intake of breath as his bare chest came in view. He knew it wasn't his newest injury that forced this reaction out from his brother; it didn't look that bad when he was cleaning it up.

Sam swallowed thickly as he took in the various types of scars on Dean's chest that he knew weren't there before, well, a year before. He had enough experience to let him know what exactly each scar represented, and his brother's chest looked almost like a map made of claws marks, knives, teeth, even fingernails and other things he refused to think about. He didn't need to ask the question of how Dean had got these scars; he knew pretty well when and how he had got them.

"Enjoying the view?" Dean's thick tone cut through his train of thoughts and Sam forced himself to look away from his brother's chest.

"Sorry," Sam whispered, feeling like a child caught with a cookie before dinner time. Clearing his throat, Sam asked, "What did you use to clean these?" He nodded his chin towards the five cuts Randa's fingers had left on the skin above Dean's heart.

"Soap and water." Dean answered quietly.

"Okay," Sam looked at Dean, who still refused to look at him and it was getting even more awkward Sam was afraid if he did one wrong move Dean would pat his hands away and say he would take care of it himself.

"Do you mind?" He had to ask before starting to inspect the wounds. Dean shook his head 'no' and closed his eyes, straitening his back a little to give his brother the access he needed.

After a few painful minutes for Dean and uncomfortable for Sam, the youngest Winchester was satisfied there was nothing major, one cut was a little deep and would need a couple of stitches, the others would just heal on their own. But it still didn't explain the obvious pain Dean was in, or why he had stopped breathing not half an hour ago. Sam couldn't just shake off the feeling in the bit of his stomach that something else was going on here, which was causing his brother's distress besides these small cuts.

"There's one cut that I'll have to stitch, the rest look just fine," Sam told Dean as he started to clean the needle he used earlier to sew his head.

"Told you it was just a scar," Dean all but grumbled.

"Still doesn't explain why you fainted or …" Sam let the rest of his sentence trail off; he couldn't bring himself to say it.

"Or what?" Dean raised his head at that, concerned by the way Sam's voice almost broke and the slight shaking of his hands.

Sam looked up and unconsciously let a sigh of relief when his eyes locked with Dean. He could see the pain in his brother's eyes. Not only the physical pain that he still couldn't find a way to explain, but also the pain and hurt what they said to each other earlier had caused.

It was the younger brother's turn to break the eye contact and look away as his own words echoed back to him.

"Or stopped breathing," Sam said finally in a strained voice. He heard Dean's 'huh' and shook his head at the lack of response and attention he always received from Dean when he was the one injured.

Fumbling with the first-aid kit contents for a clean cord, the flask of holy water caught Sam's attention. He looked up from the flask to Dean and the thought hit him.

"Hey, Dean,"

"Hmm?"

"I think, maybe we should clean the wound with holy water first," Dean didn't answer. "You know, just to be sure." Sam added.

"Sam," Dean almost whined. He was tired, he was really tired and he needed Sam to clean his wound and get it over with and stop nagging, stop talking, and stop telling him what the hell he was about to do and just freaking do it. He didn't really care what needed to be done as long as it was actually being done. "Just do what you think is best, okay?"

"Oh, okay." Sam was startled a little by Dean's response but he knew that he was hurting and not in the mood to listen to his rumble.

Sam put the towel he had brought from the bathroom on Dean's lap and stood up to maintain a better position. He put one hand on Dean's bare shoulder and started to pour the holy water on his brother's chest.

Sam wasn't ready for the yelp Dean let out once the first drop of water slid over his heart but he didn't stop. He realized it was the right thing to do as long as Dean was reacting to it this way, there was something else attacking his brother's body and he needed to get rid of it before it caused extra damage.

As Sam kept pouring the water on his brother's wounds, Dean's movement became more agitated and his pain was less controlled. Sam both watched and smelled the steam rising from the cuts before he was able to see the black liquid that Dean's heart was pumping and its track as it ran through Dean's visible vines.

"Ah … Sam, stop! Stop!" Dean's scream caught him by surprise and he tore his eyes from his chest. Sam looked up at Dean's face, which was screwed up in pain, his squeezed eyes leaking tears that ran along his face and mixed with his sweat.

"I'm sorry, Dean. I'm really sorry, but I gotta do this," Sam tightened his grip on Dean's shoulder, trying in vain to sooth and calm his brother down as he continued to pour the water over the steaming wounds.

"God! Stop … Stop it… Ahhh," Whatever Sam was doing to him, it did nothing but sat his body on fire and no matter how much he begged for it to stop, the fire only increased. It was eating away at his heart, rising to his neck and licking at his face and _Jesus, this fucking hurt_! Dean heard his brother's voice but couldn't make out any words, he felt one of his hands flying towards his brother and grapping a fistful of his jacket, pulling him close and pushing him away in the same time as another scream tore itself free from inside him, making him wish he could just pass out.

"Dean, God! I'm sorry, I gotcha … I gotcha, man. It's gonna be over soon, I promise." Sam closed his eyes, wishing he could put his hands on his ears and block the sound of Dean's screams. He held his brother as he bucked against him and pled for him to stop, his own tears sliding on his face and sinking into Dean's short hair.

After what felt like years, and what could have been only five minutes, Dean's screams stopped as well as the rising steam from his wounds. Sam breathed in relief and sank down on the bed next to his brother, his legs no longer able to hold him up. He felt Dean sagging against him and somehow Sam ended up half hugging his big brother.

Dean was ready for consciousness to consume him but it looked like consciousness wasn't willing to welcome him just yet. He could feel Sam's long arms wrapping around him as he tried to slow down his labored breathing but he did nothing to push him away, he lacked the strength to even move. Dean wasn't one to allow his emotions to reach the surface but somehow it was getting the best of him at that moment and he couldn't help but wonder—for the billionth time—why Sam hadn't tried to look for him when he went to purgatory when obviously he still cared.

Why didn't Sam miss him the way he did? Why was it so hard for him to live without his brother when it was exactly the opposite for Sam?

_Get a fucking grip, Winchester! _He scolded himself, he wasn't going to cry.

Despite his effort to not give in to his emotions, a chocked sob forced its way out from him before he could stop it and a second later he felt Sam's arms tighten around him, pressing his back to his brother's chest. Dean couldn't help but sink into his little brother's embrace no matter how weak and vulnerable he looked like. He let his head fall back against Sam's shoulder as a hot tear rolled down his temple.

Sam swallowed around the lump in his throat that was threatening to chock him. He didn't find any words he could say to make the situation better, for Dean or himself; instead, he tightened his hold on his brother even more, using Dean's own way of showing affection. He knew the physical pain wasn't the thing pushing Dean to show this kind of weakness and he cursed himself for the umpteenth time for not searching for his brother when he went missing. He could have spared Dean so much horror; so much pain … or he could at least end up in the same place with him.

He couldn't even imagine how Dean was feeling like, or how he was still trusting him with his life and still finding safety in his closeness.

Dean could almost hear the thoughts in his brother's head for the first time since their reunion and he didn't know if he should feel good or bad about it. Good that maybe he would be able to put his hands on the beginning of the loose string that connected him and his little brother, and bad because he didn't know how to comfort Sam this time.

Sam felt Dean shifting in his arms and knew the moment was over. He didn't want to push on him, and to be honest with himself, he was glad Dean was regaining some control over himself and most important having the strength to do it. Letting go of each other, Sam helped Dean to lie across the bed and got ready to continue his ministration.

Dean lay back and watched Sam work, never taking his eyes off of him as it was somehow grounding him. He hissed every time the needle made it through his skin before the area became almost numb and the feeling became just a soft poke. Sam covered the wound with a clean bandage after applying some antibiotic cream. No one of them said a word during the whole process.

Dean was starting to lose track of everything going around him and Sam seemed to blur in front of him. He almost panicked when he blinked his eyes open and didn't find Sam in front of him. When did he close them? Was it all a dream and Sam wasn't really there as he first expected?

_Sam, where are y—there you are! _His frantic eyes finally found Sam who was holding a glass of water in one hand and two pills in the other and was trying to coax him into swallowing both. Dean couldn't raise his arm and he could tell that Sam figured out that much as he put the glass on the night stand and slipped his hand under his head, raising it gently and slipping the pills into his mouth, telling him it was okay. A second later the glass of water was resting against his lips and he took a sip of water that chased the pills down his throat.

Sam gathered the blanket from the end of the bed and laid it on his brother, tucking it around him gently. One of Dean's arms snaked out from under the blanket and gripped his arm tightly, startling him.

"Why you're doing this?" Dean whispered, his words slurred a bit as he locked his green misty eyes with his brother's puffy hazel's ones.

Sam was surprised by the question, but he would be lying if he said he didn't see it coming. He knew his brother's feeling and thoughts must be in a conflict right now, and Dean doubting Sam's intentions was not far different than expected after everything that happened and considering the pained state his brother was sporting in the meantime.

"Because you're my big brother, Dean." Sam spoke out his thoughts honestly and automatically, hoping it was enough for his brother.

He saw Dean's small nod, either that he decided to settle down with this answer for now or was too tired to argue. Sam covered his own hand over Dean's one that still gripped his arm in a death grip, as if he was afraid that his little brother would disappear once he let him go.

"Go to sleep, Dean. I'm not going anywhere," Sam told Dean, watching him blink heavy eyes at him before he closed them once more and didn't open them again, his grip on Sam's arm slightly loosening.

Sam stayed in his low crouch beside his brother's bed and watched him sleep; wondering how many times Dean did that for him whether when they were kids or adults and grown up. Once he was sure that Dean was asleep and wasn't going to wake up anytime soon, he gently pried his arm from Dean's hand and rested his brother's hand on the bed and stood up.

Sam retrieved his laptop from his bag and sat on his bed, starting to search up what he needed to find once the laptop was connected to the internet. He knew what he saw when he was cleaning Dean's wounds, the black liquid still streamed through his brother's vines and he still could actually _see_ it. He knew there was something that they had missed in this hunt, and he was intended to find out what it was.

**-_ To be continued ... _**

* * *

-Think Sam can find what's wrong with Dean? Is there even something wrong with Dean to begin with? Will Sam be able to save his brother if it came to that? You'll know all the answers for whatever questions going on your head, all you gotta do is Review! :)

Be nice and let me know what you think and if you want more. Thanks for reading!

Aya


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **Thank you SO MUCH for your reviews, guys! They seriously what keeps me going :) And thanks too for whoever follow the story and me, I really would like to hear your thoughts and what you think is going to happen and if you want to read something specific before the story ends! :)

More hurt Dean in this chapter and a longer one this time to make sure you're satisfied. I hope you like it!

**Summary: **Sometimes when you think the job is done it turns out that it's just getting started. After killing Randa Moreno, the person with Brick Holmes's heart, and stopping the deal's influence over the remaining people with his organs, Dean and Sam hit the road expecting the job was over as the following events prove them wrong. Hurt!Dean and a lot of angst including both brothers ahead.

**Spoiler:** Heartache 8x03 - Season 8.

**Disclaimer:** I own only this story, not Dean nor Sam .. more's the pity.

**Beta:** No one re-edited this chapter but me, so forgive me for any mistakes. :)

* * *

**-Breakable-**

**Chapter 5**

_"When you get to the end of your rope. Tie a knot and hang on." ~Franklin D. Roosevelt_

He was barely breathing.

He stood still—_very_ still. He could only stare at the eyes of the man standing in front of him, who looked like he would charge at him the second he let his guard slip. He didn't even dare to blink; he knew by instinct it would take only one blink to find the other man mere inches away from his face and only one slight move to be rewarded with a sharp blade in his gut.

Sam stood with his hands raised in the air, almost in surrender, showing no attempt to fight back the elder man who might or might not advance at him any moment. He took in the sight of the almost motionless figure in front of him; Dean stood a few feet away from him as still as he was, his right hand forming a tight grip around the hilt of a sharp sliver knife that his knuckles were getting whiter the longer they stood, his other hand bleeding, and he was staring back at him with a strange expression of fear and rigidity.

But that wasn't even the worst part of it. It was what his brother's eyes revealed at the moment that scared him, which was _nothing_. Dean's eyes were utterly empty; it almost looked like he was dead and the only proof that he was alive was the fact that he was vertical. Yet the eyes that were boring holes into Sam's body were dangerously sharp—predatory-like, pupils blown away with no hint of green in them. With how they looked like, Sam was almost sure that his brother had somehow developed the ability to see in the dark during his time in Purgatory.

It was shocking to see Dean like this. In fact, Sam was sure that Dean wasn't even there, not anymore. Sam knew he was staring at just a shell of some kind of a trauma survivor—just a shell of the man his brother used to be. He hated to admit it, but the youngest Winchester doubted there was a way to bring Dean back this time. No matter what he did, he knew that this night was probably his and his brother's last one on earth.

And he didn't know what he was supposed to do anymore.

**...**

_**Six hours earlier,**_

Sam looked at his sleeping brother, a little worried but satisfied that Dean hadn't moved at all during the past hour. Dean needed as much rest as he could get, and Sam was praying for his brother to stay asleep as much as possible. It's been two hours since the last time Dean woke up, darting his eyes around him incoherently and softly mumbling words that Sam wasn't able to catch. His brother's eyes finally settled on him for a little long, as if unconsciously making sure that Sam was still there before he was out cold once again.

Rubbing his tired eyes with the heels of his hands, Sam blinked a few times before he looked back at his laptop screen. He has been searching for about three hours now for what could be behind his brother's state. He dug up everything he could find about the Mayan culture and myths, praying he would find something new that he had missed during his main research of this hunt. But all the ways led him to either something he already knew or a dead end which unconsciously made him pick up his cell phone from the nightstand and dial Bobby's number out of the habit, knowing the old man always had the answers they needed.

The automatic message that told him the number he was trying to reach wasn't available right now and he should try again later brought him back to the land of living and he clicked his phone shut with an ache in his heart. Sam swallowed hard, the sour taste of loss still lingering at the back of his throat, before he tossed his phone on the bed and stood up.

The youngest Winchester started pacing in frustration and anxious, looking in the direction of his brother's bed each time he turned around to make sure he was breathing, and began sorting through the useless information he had so far.

In his research, Sam had focused on the sacrificing rituals this time. He knew whatever was happening to Dean must have started during Randa's attack. So far he knew how The Mayan people had developed their sacrificing rituals along the years from sacrificing animals to sacrificing humans instead for their known richer values, using several ways to squeeze the life out of their victims including ribbing out their hearts and using bows and arrows to stab them to death and other terrible ways. The most common rituals were usually performed by priests who would penetrate the victim's chest with a flint knife just below the left breast. Reaching inside the chest cavity, the priest would pull out the still beating heart and hand it to another priest, who would then smear the blood on that idol to which the sacrifice had been made.

What disgusted the young man the most was what they did to the bodies after. If the sacrifice had taken place on the top of a pyramid or something of that sort, the corpse would be thrown to the courtyard below where priests of lower rank would skin the victim except for the hands and feet. The skin would then be worn by the officiating priest who would solemnly dance among the spectators. If the victim had been an especially brave warrior his body might be butchered and eaten by the nobles and other spectators. That particular part made Sam gag.

How far people could go had never ceased to surprise them. They were twisted in so many levels. It was never an easy task to understand how their minds worked and how they could just lose their humanity that easy whenever they had the chance to. Demons and ghosts and all the types of monsters, whether the ones they knew of or others, were easier to wrap your head around their actions. After all they were designed to kill and spill their poison and brutality every where they turned.

Sam shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts and focus on one definite line of thinking. Finding what was wrong with Dean.

"Okay," Sam whispered to himself as he kept his quiet pacing. "Think, Sam. Think!"

While cleaning Dean's wound, he saw how his body reacted to the holy water, which confirmed to him that whatever was going on with his brother was definitely supernatural-related. The vines around Dean's heart were ridiculously visible, and the color of the blood that streamed in them was more black than red. Sam concluded it was probably some kind of a poison which was somehow transformed from Randa to his brother at some point.

Yet, there wasn't even one word in everything he came across that mentioned the ability of the victim getting poisoned before they met their fate of death, which made Sam even more frustrated.

"If it's not a poison or some sort of infection, what could it be?" Sam asked to no one in particular, mindful to keep his voice down to not disturb Dean or wake him up. Taking a deep breath, Sam shuffled back to his bed and went through all his notes once more. His frustration started to turn into anger the more he searched and found nothing that could help. Snatching his phone off of the bed, the young man looked at the older one on the bed and somehow he felt angrier.

_'Dean always knew what to do_,' his inner voice spoke to him. _'You gonna let him down now? Again?' _Sam almost screamed 'No' before he realized it would be useless—if not insane—to shout at his own self.

Deciding he could use as much help as he could get, Sam opened his phone, scrolling through his short contact list, very aware that whoever he called would be surprised to hear from him and might as well start barging in with curious questions after a long year of disappearing and cutting the hunting life completely off.

Sam stepped out of the room into the chilling air of the night, not wanting to risk waking Dean up and made a few phone calls which got him to another dead end. And as he expected, the two hunters who picked up wanted to stick their noses into his own life and know why and where he has been MIA the past year. Dean too.

Taking a minute to just breathe and clear his head, Sam stared at the sky and shuddered once, not sure it was from the chill in the air or from the dread that was settling down deep in his belly. The both hunters he called told him they have never heard of any survivors from these rituals, which why they didn't have any idea what exactly the process of killing involved. Sam doubted there were too many who survived this besides his brother, otherwise something about it would have been mentioned in the lore. And that's why he had no idea what was going on, let alone how to cure it.

Dean was screwed.

**….**

Dean tossed and turned in his bed, feeling the sharp pain and the heaviness in his chest. He tried to settle down his rapid breathing and stop twisting every moment but found it achingly hard. He couldn't find any way to get himself into a comfortable position; the bed felt as if it was made from nails, and whenever he moved his heart shot a blinding pain to the rest of his body to remind him he wasn't supposed to move or go anywhere. It was as if he was being a captive of his own body which felt like a ticking bomb that was ready to explode any second.

Letting out a harsh, angry breath, Dean opened his eyes which seemed to weigh tons at the moment and took him long enough to see through the blurriness in his sight. Once his eyes were functioning easier, they landed on the huddled form of his brother who was out cold in his seat against the small table, the laptop screen glowing next to him.

Despite how shitty he was feeling in the meantime, the oldest Winchester couldn't help but shake his head and smile fondly at the image of his brother falling asleep during one of his researches like he always used to do when he was younger. He let out a breathy 'ah' as the thumbing headache stepped in once again, making him regret moving his head.

Dean took a pity on his little brother for sleeping in such position; he would have a hell of a mix of a stiff back and neck when he woke up. He knew he must have been up all… night? Dean wasn't sure how long he slept or how much he had missed. He felt like he hasn't slept for years, still he had that feeling that there was a lot that he was missing, what was wrong with him that made Sam act this way for example.

Stiffly stretching his arm towards his phone on the nightstand, the weary man was out of breath from moving just a little and doing such a simple task. One look at the clock on the screen let him know he didn't really sleep that much. Dawn was still sitting in and he could see the soft light of the very early morning through the curtain that moved lazily along the only window in the room.

The last night was so hazy to him; he vaguely remembered Sam stitching him up and his own screams, other than that he wasn't really sure. At that memory Dean moved his hand towards his chest and gingerly felt the bandage there before lifting his hand higher to his head. Touching his fingers to the other stitches along his hair line, he finally knew the reason why he had this killer headache and wondered when the hell he got his head sliced up in the first place. Being used to get patched up with his brother's _neat_ ministrations, Dean couldn't help but notice that the stitches were missing any kind of bandage or little butterflies, which actually said a lot. Sam must have been—somehow—totally freaked out to forget to cover them with something as he always insisted that every cut needed to be cleaned and bandaged because Dean would be amazed at how a small cut can cause a lot of trouble such as infections if it wasn't treated the right way. Dean could clearly hear his brother voice saying it.

_A small gash freaks you out but not a missing brother for a whole year? Got a weird way of worrying, Sammy. _Dean felt guilty the second the thought crossed his mind, his brother was freaked out and clearly trying his best to help him but Dean couldn't control or decided what to think. _Guess I'll never get it. _He sighed heavily before closing his eyes to try to go to sleep again which didn't work.

The oldest brother lay in bed for a whole half an hour, closing his eyes and breathing deeply, counting from one to thousand, but it still didn't work or overcame the tightness in his chest, and the longer he lay there the more weary he felt. He opened his eyes again, losing hope to fall asleep and tried to get up and out of the bed and search for something that could take off the edge of the pain.

Taking it easy and slow was going to hurt and take more time than just blotting up in bed and feeling the pain for just an instant instead of a slow organizing process, Dean decided. He moved the covers away and counted to three before he supported himself in a better position and shot upright. He barely stifled the loud groan that escaped him once he was seated and took a couple of minutes before lowering his legs to the floor.

Barely able to catch his breath, Dean knew it would do him no good to play stubborn now and that he really needed a few minutes to gather his bearings before he started moving again. His skin was crawling, and he could have sworn there were ants moving beneath his skin. His heart was throbbing and beating too loud in his ears as the blood drained from his face, making him feel dizzy and nauseous. Dean closed his eyes and darted his tongue along his chapped lips and waited.

If anybody had enough experience with tolerating pain, it was Dean. Pain was easy to undergo as long as he didn't really think about it or when he had something to do—a mission. Sitting on the bed and staring at the ugly wallpaper of the wall he faced was not really helping matters, though. And all he could think of was the stubborn constant pain that didn't want to leave him alone or even recede.

Using the help of everything that came handy to support himself, Dean put all the strength and effort he could muster in that move and stood up, biting back the scream that wanted to tear its way out from him. The world was spinning around him as he used the wall to stay upright and the raging pain spiked up to hundred on the scale of one to ten. Shuffling achingly slow toward Sam's bed, Dean looked for a painkiller in the first-aid kit that was tossed there among too many scattered papers and notes.

Finding the small yellow bottle, Dean took two good minutes to open its cap with his terribly shaking hands. He almost hurled the offending object at the floor but he knew better than to lose his only escape from the pain at this moment. Dean dropped four pills from the small, finally open, bottle on his palm and swallowed them dry, or at least he tried. His mouth was so dry he couldn't get the tiny pills passed his throat; he reached clumsily for the half filled glass of water on the nightstand, knocking Sam's phone off of the small table to the floor, and gulped down the water as soon as his shaking hands closed around the glass.

Letting the glass and himself drop on Sam's bed, Dean was surprised that his brother wasn't awake by now, considering the eldest Winchester's movements weren't exactly quiet. _You got rusty, Sammy_. He thought as he turned his head and watched his sleeping brother and waited for the pills to kick in.

And because he was Dean Winchester, and things didn't just work out _that_ easy for him, Dean felt the water that he just drank rising in the back of his throat, blocking his airway and tasting like acid. He pushed himself up, feeling the water practically drowning him from the inside out and somehow he managed to reach the bathroom and stumbled in.

Dean dropped hard in front of the toilet, jarring his knees, and threw up what little water he had got into himself five minutes ago. Just as he thought the heaving was over, appearantly his stomach had other thoughts as it twisted in knots and the nausea only increased. He knew it was just getting started. He pulled himself up a little; holding on to the toilet's porcelain and let loose of whatever his body decided it had to get out. He squeezed his eyes shut as he retched violently, aware of the coppery taste and the thickness of the liquid coming out from his mouth.

Dean felt like it's been an eternity since he started heaving, yet it wouldn't stop. Barely registering the tears of exhaustion leaking from his closed eyes, and the cold sweat that streamed on his bare back and chest, Dean continued heaving miserably against the toilet, tightening his grip around it when his hands started to shake even more violently and slipped a couple of times.

Vaguely aware of his brother's presence with him in the bathroom, Dean heaved one last time, having a hard time to concentrate on his surroundings or catch his breath, finally letting go of the porcelain and blacked out.

**….**

Sam was startled awake from his sleep at the sound of his brother's violent retching coming from the bathroom.

"Dammit!" Sam cursed at his stupidity for letting himself fall asleep, already standing up and looking at Dean's empty bed even though he knew he was in the bathroom. He reached the bathroom in two seconds and stopped dead in the small room's doorway. The sight of the dark blood that flowed out from his brother's mouth, leaving dark traces on his chin and neck, shocked him. Dean was kneeling in front of the toilet, obviously struggling and chocking in his own blood as it kept coming out from his mouth.

"DEAN!" Sam shook himself out from his daze and was on the floor beside his brother the next second. He watched helplessly as Dean shook hard next to him, holding the porcelain in a death grip, wheezing and gagging weakly. Sam gagged as well at the strong smell of blood, his hand hovering behind Dean's back, afraid to touch him anywhere and hurt him even more. As the toilet slipped from Dean's hands and he was starting to tip over, Sam instantly reacted, wrapping his arms around his brother's middle and pulled him away from it.

Dean fell back in his arms—motionless, his lips and chin covered with blood, his skin white and clammy and Sam noticed the yellowish color Dean's fingernails turned into.

"Shit, shit, _SHIT_!" Sam exclaimed loudly, stunned by the situation and how fast it was going downhill, he had absolutely no idea what to do. He tried to wake Dean but just like last night, he wouldn't wake up. Looking nervously around him for anything that could by some miracle show up and let him know how to react, Sam could only snatch a towel and clean the blood off of his brother's face.

Pressing two fingers to Dean's neck—wondering why for God's sake he had to that _a lot_—he felt Dean's pulse throbbing against his fingers, weak and way erratic. _At least he is breathing this time_, Sam told himself, trying in vain to calm his nerves.

Knowing the situation was completely spraining out of his control this time, Sam hurried back to the room, picked his phone up from his bed and dialed 911 with shaky hands.

"911, what's your emergency?" The woman's voice on the other end of the line blared through the phone immediately, startling Sam and making him almost drop the phone.

"My brother, he's-" Sam never had the chance to continue as a loud crash came from behind him, from the bathroom direction. He threw the phone as he ran into the bathroom to find his brother standing in front of the now smashed mirror, his left hand's knuckles bleeding.

"Dean?" The youngest Winchester asked after a long moment of paralyzing silence. Dean was staring at what was left of the broken reflexive glass as if he wasn't recognizing what he was seeing there. He turned cold eyes towards Sam who sucked in a breath at the look into his brother's eyes, which was—for the first time in his life—aimed at him.

"Dean?" Sam repeated again, more slowly this time and took a cautious step towards Dean.

"Stay the Hell back!" Dean growled at him.

"Dean, it's just me." Sam tried to reasonable with his obviously delirious brother. "It's Sam." He added somewhat calmly when Dean eyed him with a skeptical look. Sam stayed still as Dean walked unsteadily towards him, having no idea what to expect from his brother when he was in such a state.

Dean's eyes softened a little as it took in Sam's features, before the death glare was back and Sam found himself being shoved hardly out of the bathroom by his brother who wasn't even supposed to have such strengths right now.

Sam steadied himself as he lost his balance from Dean's strong shove and watched the older man reach his hand inside his duffle bag and came out with a big sharp dagger.

"Whoa, _Dean_!" The younger brother exclaimed as Dean raised the hand holding the knife higher, ready to aim any second, transfixing Sam with his dangerous stance and demeanor.

"Stay the Hell back, you_ son of a BITCH_!" Dean threatened, yelling the last part of his threat, causing Sam's heart to leap in his throat.

It was obvious Dean was completely out of it. What surprised Sam was how the Hell Dean had the strength to be even upright. What his brother was capable of would be always beyond him, but was it because of the poison—Sam decided to call it so until he figured out what exactly it was, _if_ he could figure out what exactly it was—that Dean had that strength? Was it somehow providing him with some kind of power? Or was it just one of the many things Dean had acquired in Purgatory?

Whatever it was, it was frightening the hell out of him. Sam was scared to do the slightest move that would get him and his brother both killed. He just stood very still, staring at the man in front of him.

And he didn't know what he was supposed to do anymore.

_**-To be continued ..** _

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Well? Don't Shoot! I hate to leave you hanged this way just as well as you do -maybe not that much *evil grin*- but hey, the chapter was too long I had to stop somewhere, right? I hope you liked it and please let me know what you think .. What you think is going to happen to Dean, Sam as well.

There's at least 45 readers for this story -as the site informs me- and I really would like to hear from the rest who are not reviewing, you want me to continue with the story, don't you? *Not blackmailing AT ALL. Just REALLY wanna know what you think :) Won't take you long to drop a review, please?

Thanks for reading!

Aya


	6. Chapter 6

**First of all, **to assure you guys and to chase away your worry, I'm Completing This Story! I'm a reader just like you are and I HATE to read an uncompleted story so I will never do that to my readers. Plus, this story is a dedication to one of my dear friends and I'm surely not gonna disappoint her or anyone who reads this fiction this way. So rest assured. There's an end for this story and we're probably coming closer to it.

**A/N:** So I'd like to thank everyone who reads/follows the story and me, thank you so much guys, your reviews and support are what keeps me going! :)  
You'll have to meet a totally confused and disturbed Dean in this chapter, so put in mind that it's _his_ POV so you won't get confused or lost just as well :D We'll have a few glimpse on Dean's time in Purgatory, let me know if you liked it and if you want me to write more about it. Nothing else to say, I really hope you like it guys, and sorry if I'm late by a day or two it's because this chapter was really hard to write and I got stuck many times, so I really DO HOPE you like it. Let me know :)

**Summary & Disclaimer : **See previous chapters.

**Spoiler:** Heartache 8x03 - Season 8.

**Warning: **For a bit of language.

**Beta:** No one re-edited this chapter but me, so forgive me for any mistakes. :)

* * *

**-Breakable-**

**Chapter 6**

_Regrets collects like old friend, here to relive your darkest moments_

_I Can see no way, I can see no way _

_And all of the ghouls come out to play_

_**...**_

With his heart repeatedly slamming hard against his rips, with not only pain but also the strong rush of adrenaline and the slightest tingle of fear, the wary hunter stood his ground, alert and solid in front of his enemy and what soon-to-be his _prey_.

Dean had already met a lot of them, even though he hadn't spent that much time in there so far. Time in Purgatory was hard to predict, still he supposed it roughly may have been a month or so according to how time passed back on earth if he was counting correctly. He wasn't sure. The longer it passed the harder it got to keep track of time and how many days he had spent there, especially when he was being hunted by so many sons of bitches who each one of them wanted nothing but to skin him alive and have their fair share of his own flesh.

The task became even harder when he would go down in a fight and he would _completely_ lose track of everything happening around him—which rarely happened. Still he had miraculously made it through a couple of times when he knew for sure he wouldn't be able to blink his eyes open ever again. But somehow he would wake up, alone, aching and tossed against a huge stone, shielded by a line of tree as if someone purposefully picked out that place to keep him hidden and away from the eyes that spotted him everywhere he turned, at least until he got enough strength to move again and be to able protect himself.

Dean guessed, more like _hoped_, that Castiel was the one doing it. That maybe he was still out there watching over him and he didn't completely cut him off—since he disappeared after the very first five minutes they both were crammed there and Dean couldn't find him _yet_—or worse, that he got ripped to shreds and probably was already dead. If it was possible for him to die right now considering he was not practically an angel anymore, or wasn't one the last time Dean saw him anyway.

Tightening his jaw and adding more strength into his hold around his dagger, the oldest Winchester concentrated on his target, amazed and terrified by the fact that it wore his brother's features. A freaking tricky, but smart, way to mess with his head, he silently gave the shape shifter or Leviathan—or whatever the hell it was—that. He knew the damn thing knew for sure how much it would hurt Dean to have to kill his own brother, or the thing that looked exactly like his brother. It took Dean everything in him to not take the couple of steps that separated him and that thing and pull _Sam_ into a tight hug. Because he could have sworn, it even acted like his little brother in so many ways. And it stung too hard to see him just too close, _so damn close_, and not being able to walk back to him, back to the only reason for him to keep going.

Even though he knew it was all just a trick, the freaking bastard knew how to get through to him, knew his only weak spot and how exactly to use it against him. But Dean wasn't giving in, because this wasn't real. None of it was. The walls that surrounded him, the rough carpet feeling beneath his feet, the two beds and the worn furniture around him, everything which perfectly represented one of the motel rooms him and his brother would be staying at and, of course, a little brother in the middle of the room, all of it to only paint the desired picture and make it as much believable as it could be for him.

But it wasn't real. He knew with every fiber he had. His brother wasn't there. He couldn't. Sam was safe, on earth, most likely trying to find him and tiring himself up to get a hold of him. That was real. Not the room where he stood and definitely not the Sam he was staring at. It was all a deception, a hell of a one, and he had almost fallen for it. _Almost_.

"Nice trick," Dean croaked, smirking a little. "The whole homey, cozy thing. That was smart,"

"What?" The creature asked in puzzlement, fear written all over its face.

"Could we skip that part already?" Dean groaned. "The part when one of us gets to kill the other is much, _much_ more fun. Don't ya think?" He added coldly, slowly starting to move and walk into a circle, rounding the monster in front of him which mirrored his movement, still raising Sam's hands and staring at him with his little brother's wide, scared eyes.

"Dean, it's me, man!" It said and Dean tried his best to keep his stance and not launch at the thing and get it over with. He wanted so badly for the moment to last, almost as much as he wanted it to just end. He wanted to drink in his brother's features and keep looking at these hazel eyes which had always carried so much care and kindness for him. But he was furious and going mad out of his mind at the thought of that ugly, hideous thing choosing Sam from the entire universe to be him. And hell if the beast thought it would ever get the chance to get away with it that easy, Dean would make sure it paid for its little stunt, nice and slow.

"It's _Sam_!" The thing said again, its voice slightly breaking and was completely Sam's to Dean's ear. It banged him hard and he didn't want anything right now but to make the thing shut up and disappear. Two seconds later he found himself moving, so fast it surprised the creature _and_ himself, and threw his full weight at it, knocking them both off balance.

Dean fell on top of the figure that occupied Sam's appearance, knocking the air out of its lungs. The hunter struggled just as well to draw in a deep breath as the searing pain in his chest intensified due to his fall, but pain was a luxury that he couldn't afford right now, it would kill him the second he sought out any kind of relief. He had to take care of what was in his hands first, deal with pain later.

"Shut up!" Dean shouted, his hands fisting the collar of the monster's shirt, jerking it forward roughly, making it gasp in surprise and squeeze its eyes shut as the blade of the knife Dean still gripped in his hand almost poked its eye out. Dean was amazed at how humanly the creature seemed to act, but he already knew that it was all an act to make him let his guard down and how it would be just too easy and fun to kill him this way.

"Don't you _dare_ say his name _ever_ again, you filthy ugly piece of shit!" Dean yelled again, using his weight to keep the fake form of his brother trapped beneath him, his face mere inches away from it. "Do you hear me?!" He almost screamed at it, his anger was building up even more and he was completely losing his temper now.

"Dea-" It never got the chance to continue as the confused hunter jolted it again, ensuring that its head hit the hard floor this time.

"Do. You. Hear. Me.?" Dean asked again in a dangerous tone, making sure each word was clear and demanding. The thing could only nod, fear and something else that almost looked like a mix of pride and yearning itched on its face.

"Good," Dean addressed the monster underneath him, looking deep into its eyes for a moment, wondering why those pair of eyes looked like home to him when they weren't really Sam's. Most important, why the monster still insisted to play a game that obviously it was royally losing. Dean guaranteed anyway.

Moving the sharp blade of the sliver knife to the creature's jaw line, Dean held his captive with his other arm, pressing it hard against its throat. "So, what are you?" Dean asked slowly and darkly as he pressed the knife a little deeper, leaving a small cut on Sam's face. It pained him to harm that thing when it looked just like his brother. It looked like hurting Sam to his eyes. He felt his own brows furrow in sympathy and fear, expecting a little steam to bubble from the cut but nothing happened besides a thin line of blood sliding along the thing's chin.

"Not a shape-shifter then," Dean said, pressing his thumb where the blood trickled and wiped at it. "Or a leviathan." He confirmed.

"Dean-" The creature squirmed beneath him, moving for the first time. It was strange how it was totally submitting to Dean the way it did, but now that it was showing some kind of resistance, it made Dean sure that he was on the right pass.

"I said shut up." Dean demanded calmly, moving the blade to the beast's throat and watched as it gasped at the feeling of the blade against its skin, a meager step away from taking out its life for good.

The oldest Winchester's head almost fell forward against the head of the thing that wore Sam's features as his heart's pain level jumped to a higher notch and a sickening dizzy spill hit him all of a sudden. He felt the creature move again, probably considering the opening to take him out but he pressed the blade to its throat even more, just a shy away from slicing through its skin, silently commanding him not to move, and supported himself with his other arm. As his forehead barely touched the other being's one, Dean could smell the faint smell of Sam's hair conditioner and aftershave, and for a second he thought he was about to kill his own brother.

What happened in the next five seconds was too fast for Dean to register. One second he was the one totally in control, the next he was lying on his back, the knife no longer in his hand and Sam's face filling his view. He fought hard against the grayness that crept out from the sides of his eyes' corners and slowly began to consume his vision until there was nothing left but blackness. He thought he heard the thing calling his name and shaking him before the darkness fully swallowed him, but he was sure it was just another version of his own hallucinations and the beast was truly about to kill him, and his life had finally decided to come to an end in here, in Purgatory, all alone, and before he got the chance to see his _real_ brother again.

**xxxx**

Sam gasped as he felt the cool blade of the dagger rest against his throat. The look on his brother's face and the unwavering way he held the knife to his skin told him that Dean was far gone and was surly going to waste him any second in the following few minutes. The youngest Winchester knew his brother wasn't really seeing him as anything but only another thing of the hundreds, maybe thousands, things that his purpose in life was to kill all along—another thing that the world needed to get rid of.

Sam's heart bounded so fast he was sure it was going to jump out of his chest, his breathing quickening and coming out in harsh breaths as the vice-grip of fear took hold of him when the end seemed to draw nearer with every second that slipped away. Almost making the decision to welcome the end by the hands of his own brother, Sam was about to close his eyes—knowing for sure it would be for good this time—before he felt more than saw Dean's pain leveling up.

Dean's upper body swayed a little even though he wasn't standing and his head fell forward, barely touching Sam's one. Noting the way Dean's arms shook against him, the little brother moved, considering the chance to turn the tables and save himself _and_ his brother. Unfortunately though, Dean sensed the movement and pressed the blade more forcefully against Sam's skin and Sam stopped still right away. Regardless of how much fucked up the whole situation was, Sam couldn't help but admire his brother's strength and ability, not only to focus on his enemy but also to force them to succumbing to him even though he was beat to hell.

Sam's ears caught a muffled siren in the distance, knowing that the older man did just as well when his head automatically turned sharply fast towards the room's door. Sam may have been away from the hunting life for about a year but it didn't mean that a lifetime of practice would simply fly away.

Sam seized the opportunity of Dean's mere distraction, knowing it was probably the only chance that he would have to correct the situation, and moved as fast as he could, snatching the knife from Dean's hand and turned them both around. Now being the one on top, Sam easily blocked his brother's swings as he instinctively trashed underneath him and fought back before Sam dared a punch towards Dean's jaw to force him to quit fighting and kicking and to stop him from hurting himself much farther.

The force of the swing seemed to apply the desired effect as Dean finally settled down, his eyes fogging and looking everywhere but seeing nothing. Sam let out a shaky breath, which came out in the sob, fighting hard to keep it together as he watched Dean slip away underneath the thick cloud of darkness once again. _It was so close_. He thought, leaning forward and shook his brother, trying to raise him from his slumber for the third time in what couldn't have been even twelve hours, tears falling freely down his cheeks not for a specific reason but because of a _lot_.

The low sound of siren approached closer and only then Sam realized it was most likely coming for them. He had dropped his phone in his mid-call for help before he went to check on his falling brother. He didn't remember pressing the end call button, and he was fairly sure that the 911 operator must have heard most of the clash he and Dean had. His mind couldn't register how they knew how to find them yet, but he knew that the siren was definitely coming closer to their room, but whether it was a police car or an ambulance, he wasn't sure. Either way they were screwed.

Sam hurried to the small window and peeked through the glass, swearing under his breath when he saw the blue lights of the police car that shone through the distance. _They must have tracked the phone to get here. Fuck!_ Sam figured it out as he went back to where his fallen brother lay still and picked up the knife, tossing it into their weapon duffel and threw it out of the bathroom window, making sure it wasn't in plain sight and hurried back to the room. He quickly dragged his brother to the side of the bed farthest from the door, hating himself for probably adding extra damage to his brother's battered body but satisfied he was mostly out of sight. Sam gave the room a final once-over, making sure nothing looked out of normal and braced himself for what to come.

Sure enough, the not too soft knocking on the room came just as he was done partly hiding Dean. Sam opened the door, doing his best to keep the door as narrowly open as possible and not looking too suspicious in the same time. Two male officers greeted him with tired eyes; both their looks spoke volumes that the two of them hasn't slept for quite long. _Of course!_ Sam mentally exclaimed. Who else would ever get to deal with cranky cops if it weren't the Winchesters?

"Hello, sir," One of the two men spoke. "We received a tip from 911 call center that there was someone in trouble here, probably got attacked and we just wanted to make sure that everything is fine." The officer informed him and Sam let out the breath he didn't realize he was holding when the officer didn't mention the part where they wanted to get inside and check that everything was fine_ themselves_.

"What?" Sam asked, trying to look surprised by the idea of having any kind of trouble or being attacked as much as he could. He almost wanted to laugh at that. "What kind of trouble?"

The other officer who hadn't spoken yet huffed, apparently bored of the whole situation and needing nothing but to end his shift and crawl into a warm bed.

"The 911 operator said that she heard someone in here," The first officer spoke again, pointing at the room behind Sam before he continued. "Shouting and yelling and also sounds of struggle right after the man who was with her on the phone was cut off in the middle of reporting an emergency, which probably means he was the one who got attacked."

"Oh," Sam faked innocence; his mission to send the policemen away wasn't exactly easy with the fear for his brother that gripped at his heart. "Yes, right! That was me. I'm sorry, I get that it might have caused a little trouble which why you're here, sir." Sam answered evenly, flashing the officer an apologetic look. "My brother, he just got a little heavily drunk and he kinda passed out on me and his heart was racing. It never happened before though and I just got a little scared. I called for help when he didn't show any kind of awareness but in the middle of the call he was already up and shouting at me for being such a girl and trying to drag him to a hospital, then he took off to chill." The lie flowed out from Sam's mouth smoothly as he recited an unsuspicious version of what had happened to the man in front of him.

"You know how big brothers are. Control freaks." He added, rolling his eyes for effect as the officer silently took in the details of Sam's story. The man peeked behind Sam's shoulder at the room then looked back at him, looking like he was trying to decide if Sam was telling the truth.

"OK," The other officer finally spoke, coming to stand next to his partner. "You make sure you keep it down then, we don't have much time for this crap!" The man snarked. He obviously looked crankier and more short-tempered than the other one.

"Will do," Sam answered and stood where he was for another minute, watching the two men get back to their cruiser and rushed back to the room the second they took off, almost not believing that luck was on their side for _once._

Dean was still unconscious on the floor where he left him and Sam struggled with his brother's weight until he was able to put him on the bed. Thoughts raced through Sam's head as he knew that a hospital was out of question now since Dean was completely out of it and Sam couldn't guarantee what his brother would pull on the hospital staff and what it would lead to.

Placing his hand on his brother's forehead, Sam expected to find a fever but what he didn't expect was the coldness of Dean's skin he found there. Sighing heavily, he went to the bathroom and brought a washcloth which he soaked into warm water, and sat on the ground beside the bed before he began to wipe his brother's face, neck and chest.

"C'mon, Dean." Sam mumbled softly, watching Dean's face for any flicker. "Wake up, man. _Please_. I can't do this any much longer." But his brother didn't even stir.

The youngest Winchester checked his brother's chest wound, making sure there wasn't any infection setting in—other than the poison that was already slowly killing Dean—and noted that the dark veins still lingered there. He took his brother's left hand in his, moving the small towel over the dry blood on Dean's knuckles and stared back at Dean's grey face when he was done. Lowering his head onto the bed next to his big brother's arm, Sam had yet to let go of Dean's hand but he couldn't bring himself to do it. His eyelids closed against unshed tears as the young man prayed silently for the nightmare to end.

**...**

_**-To be continued...**_

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_**Song: **_Shake it out - Florence + The Machine.

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So? Was it good enough? Did you like it? And please forgive me for any "unrealistic" part about the conversation between the officers and Sam. I don't really live in the US. I am not sure if things may work out this way, so :) Please leave a review and let me know what you think and what you want to read and I will if I can manage it.

Thanks for reading! :)

Aya


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: **I know I'm late, so I'm really sorry for that. This week was all shades of crazy, and this chapter was _hard_ to write and I got stuck many times before I finally found my way out to where and how I want the story to go. So, thanks for bearing up with me and I hope the chapter is worth the wait.

**Summary & Disclaimer : **See previous chapters.

**Spoiler:** Heartache 8x03 - Season 8.

* * *

**-Breakable-**

**Chapter 7**

_"And never have I felt so deeply_  
_at one and the same time so detached from myself and so present in the world."_  
_ ~Albert Camus_

Dean woke up with a groan. His head was throbbing in time with his racing heart and his chest felt so heavy he believed for a second he would find the elephant that was crashing the air in his chest, sitting there and staring at him, once he could open his eyes. His heart was a different story, though. He was sure it skipped one or two beats every couple of minutes with how fast it was rattling inside his ribcage, and whatever it was pumping into his vines, he wasn't sure it was blood anymore.

It seemed that the warm and precious, red syrup of his life was replaced by a burning icy liquid instead, spreading coldness to every part that belonged to his body and chilling him to the bone even though his insides were on fire. He couldn't understand how he could be freezing and burning up in the same time.

The igniting flame kept rising inside the young man, mocking him, until he felt it chocking him, somehow drowning him and making it even harder to breathe. Dean struggled to roll to his side, desperate to lessen the pain and fight against the fire, the constant enemy of his life, yet one of his most trusted and powerful weapons, and the same thing that was killing him in the meantime.

The oldest Winchester panted harshly and squeezed his closed eyes tightly as his left arm clawed at his chest in a weak attempt to take the pain away, to stop the fire from engulfing him and the prickly heat from winning the battle against the thick layer of ice that was efficiently wrapped around him, before it split open, and before he shattered into million little pieces along with it.

Dean's other arm reached under him, desperately trying to hold onto anything that would save him from falling into the abyss of darkness. He fisted the mattress he was lying on, lacking the foresight to locate where he was or if anyone else was in danger, not that he cared about anything but catching his breath at the moment anyway.

Each of the hunter's limbs shifted in a direction of its own as the shivers mercilessly continued to ram through his body and he felt the hand he had pressed hard into the mattress a moment ago closing around something else that definitely didn't fall under the category of rough sheets.

Startled, Dean's eyes snapped open once he found out that he had had someone else's hand in his. Recognizing the foggy form of the man with shaggy hair who was leaning against his bed as his little brother, the older brother saw Sam's head snap up and his eyes open at the contact. Both men stared at one another, each pair of eyes telling a different story, before Dean was the first to move. He pulled his hand away as if he had been electrocuted and tried to sit in the bed and back away in the same time.

Sam, who had yet to curse himself for closing his damn eyes and not sensing sooner that Dean was awake, was faster. He quickly rose to his feet and rounded the bed, lying a gentle hand on Dean's back to halt his groggy movement before he could go farther and fall off the other side of the bed. Dean jerked at the touch and Sam took a step back, feeling a tug at his heart for the reaction he received from his brother for trying to comfort him. But he told himself that Dean wasn't in his right state of mind, and maybe he still thought that Sam was a monster which copied his brother's features.

Staring at the man in front of him, Dean still tried to sit up against the bed's headboard, not daring to take his blurry eyes off of the tall man two steps away from his bed. When he couldn't move or raise himself any farther, Dean dropped his head back to the pillow in defeat and closed his eyes, an agonized whimper leaving his parted lips against his will.

He didn't know if the anxious man whom he had been looking at was his brother or was entirely someone—or something—else. He didn't know where he was. He didn't understand _why_ he was being submerged in too much pain. He didn't even know whether he was alive or dead.

His mind was covered with a heavy blanket of blankness and the combination of how, where, and why was lost at him. If he had had the energy to do anything aside from trying to keep breathing, he would have cried out, screamed his agony until it pierced the sky, and maybe then he would be able break free from the hazy mist and confusion and pain he was for some reason suffering.

Sam stood beside the bed and watched as his brother still tried to maneuver himself into a sitting position. He was barely able to keep his hands to himself to hold himself back from touching his brother again and adding up to his distress. However, the second he saw Dean dropping his head back in surrender, pressing it hard against the pillow and opened his mouth in what could only be described as a silent scream, he automatically moved and was next to the older man in a blink.

Reaching over towards his tormented brother, Sam pressed his palms flat on Dean's shoulders, feeling the tremble shooting through Dean's body as he tried to comfort him, knowing it might be useless but unable to _not_ do it anyway.

"It's okay, Dean. It's okay. Just breathe through it, man." Sam soothed, adding more gentle pressure to his hold on Dean to manage reaching him through the void of whatever that was sucking the life out of him. "Just breathe, Dean."

Even though his mind was held behind the fog of the pain that was savagely lashing at his body, Dean could feel the light pressure on his shoulders and hear a voice calling his name. He tried to ignore the crawling pain and rising fire within him and focused only on the feeling of the strong hands that were holding him in place, keeping him safe and away from the edge of the hellfire.

Seizing whatever extra aid he could have, Dean latched on the voice calling him. The voice that could always reach him wherever he was. The voice he could always place from between the entire world although his frayed brain wasn't able _yet_ to match it to a specific image from all the images swirling behind his closed eyelids.

The younger brother didn't know what to do. He was aching to make Dean feel better at any cost and furious at himself for not being able to do so. He hoped that at least his voice was reaching Dean this time. That his brother knew he was here with him and that he wasn't facing the torture alone.

Sam didn't know whether to burst into a fit of laughter or cry at that—clearly—silly thought. It was obvious to him that Dean wasn't and _wouldn't_ sense his presence; his brother was already swimming under a world of hurt that blocked anything else from breaking through to him. He spent a _year_ taking care of himself, fighting evil and watching his own back in the same time, and raising against the ordeal of the never-ending misery, all by his self.

Why in Hell would he need Sam, now? Sam doubted he was any good use for Dean anymore.

And it was his entire _fucking_ fault.

Lost in self-loathing and the view of his brother's pained face and anguished guise, Sam felt like he was possessed, watching himself move as if his body was under someone else's control. When his hands unwillingly weren't making any contact with his brother's shoulders anymore, Dean felt the hold on him loosening and the voice fading, making his panic hit the ceiling as he started to lose the last link that connected him to the outside world.

His shattering breath broke into even more labored exhalation, and as if he needed the extra third degree treatment, his lunges screamed in fire at the lack of oxygen in them and he found himself slowly going under, the darkness that had greeted him more frequently than he would have liked waiting for him with wide open arms.

Sam sensed the stillness starting to seep slowly to his brother's body, compelling his hands to react before his mind could give them the order to, and took hold of Dean's bare shoulders once again, shaking him hard. Dean's eyes flew open and he cried out in pain at Sam's rough shake as it jolted him back to awareness all of a sudden.

"Stay with me, Dean!" Hardly ignoring Dean's cry of pain, Sam shook him again, making sure he was gentler this time, and willed his brother to look at him. Dean's only reaction was to take a deep breath to supply his starving-for-air-lungs before he broke into a coughing fit.

"Take it easy, man," Sam instructed in a low tone, his voice nearly breaking as he proceeded to turn Dean on his side so he could breathe easier but the coughs only increased and Dean found his throat closing in as he wheezed between coughs. Now settled behind Dean's back, Sam kept directing him to slow down his breathing and take short but not shallow breathes, knowing in some way that Dean was able to hear him.

As though Dean could hear his brother's thoughts, he somehow managed to do what he has been told, finally recognizing the voice of the speaker when it was now closer as Sam's, but he still didn't know whether it was real or it was just his imagination. Either ways, he decided to accept it, to take it and believe in the fact that _Sam_ was the one coxing him into steadying his ragged breath. That _Sam_ was the one supporting him from behind. That _Sam_ was the one rubbing his stiff back in soothing circles and whispering encouraging words to him.

That _Sam_ was the one easing his pain by just touching him.

Despite the two Winchester's best effort to keep the situation under control as much as possible, Dean started to cough even harder as the fit leveled up to another type of agony until he was coughing up blood and splattering the sheets with various red stains.

"_Jesus_, Dean!" The younger Winchester nearly sobbed, splitting one of the small towels that rested on the bed into half and wiped the blood off of his brother's lips and chin.

After too long moments that seemed to never end, Dean's coughs began to lessen and his rigged body somewhat relaxed against Sam who was still sitting behind him and supporting him. Sam kept his palm lingering behind Dean's back, using the touch to let him know that he was still there. He decided to give Dean a minute or two to regroup as he lay on his side, focusing only on pushing air to his burning lungs through his sore throat to keep himself from passing out.

Regaining some control over his breathing, Dean held himself still as much as his shaking body allowed him to and tried not to move at all, it was the best way he could think of to simmer down the agitated fire inside him. Mindful of the gentle touch on his back that never left, and the only thing that was keeping him grounded right now, he let himself get drawn into a hiatus of numbing, half-asleep state.

Semi-aware of the fact that it would be too painful for him to speak when his throat felt like it was stuffed with a bunch of knives from the effort of almost coughing up his lungs, yet the need to call out his brother's name, to hear his voice again and make sure it was _Sam_ who was sitting behind him and not just an illusion, was desperately strong it overcame all Dean's senses and argued him into calling Sam's name. _Now_.

He didn't have any clue how he was going to make sure it was his little brother, but gone was any kind of logic he had left, and soon enough, he found himself swallowing, ready to voice out the name that was carved into his brain's walls for thirty years.

Sam noted the way Dean had settled down a bit, obviously drained, the lack of energy taking its toll on him and successfully dragging him into a light slumber. He thanked whoever listened for cutting Dean some slack and giving him a bit of the huge break he needed, and tried his best to regain his composure.

The young man was torn between staying by Dean's side and leaving just for a minute to grab his brother a clean shirt to warm him up a little, probably something to ease the pain too, and give the wound on his chest another checkup, but the soft whisper that came from his side chose for him.

"Sam," Dean whispered his brother's name, not sure if it was audible enough but he couldn't push himself to talk any louder.

"Dean?" Sam called back, matching Dean's tone as he moved around the bed and crouched in front of his brother to be in his eyes level. His eyes that were still closed. And Sam had always hated when they were closed.

"Dean," Sam rested a hand on his brother's shoulder and gave him a light shake when he didn't get another reaction from him. "You with me?"

Dean's eyes opened to mere slits, needing to see his brother's face and make sure that he was okay—that he was there. His cloudy, bloodshot eyes unfolded slowly, exposing his soul and stealing Sam's breath. Sam unconsciously braced himself with his other hand and held onto the bed as he felt like he was falling into the bottomless green gem of Dean's eyes, getting tangled in the ocean of misery and hurt hidden behind the trust and longing that his brother's eyes shone with.

Staring at the hazel eyes that he knew too well, Dean felt his throat closing up with strict emotions. He knew it was Sam, yet something was blocking the thought from forming, blocking the confirmation and belief to sink in. Something was pulling him away and keeping him present in the same time, but not letting him reach over and contact with his brother—or anything else.

Whatever was holding him prisoner wanted him to only watch, be just some kind of an audience, not allowed to interact with his surroundings or be a part of the details of the passing reality, and it was beyond frustrating.

And this time he did scream.

Sam jumped at the sudden scream which pierced the silence that was blanketing them a second ago. He took only time to blink before he hovered above his brother, who had rolled to his back, closed his eyes, and was screaming at the top of his lungs.

"DEAN!" Sam cried out, applying firm pressure on Dean's shoulders as his back arched up and his neck turned into an excruciating twirl. Fearing for his brother and whatever he was being subjected to deal with, the youngest Winchester called Dean's name again in panic, but Dean's screams were louder, were so intense they shook him to the core.

The last time he had to hear and watch his brother screaming this way was when he got ripped to shreds by the hellhounds which only he could see. He still couldn't wipe that scene clean from his memory, and he doubted he would ever manage to erase the deep gash that this moment had imprinted onto his soul. And he was so not ready to relieve his brother's torture that was followed by a bloody end. He wouldn't do it again. He _couldn't_ handle it again. Not when he just got his brother back.

Dean sensed the restraining hands that tried to keep him still, but he couldn't keep quiet. Sam didn't know how he was hurting from head to toe as if he had been crashed under a freight train and was left mercilessly to keep living this way, or how hellfire was trying to burst into life inside him and claim him back to where it decided he belonged. He didn't know how much he was suffering and how desperate he was to _feel_ the reality. To _feel_ Sam's presence.

It looked like a match of powers, and the prize would eventually go to the one who screamed louder, as Sam realized he has started screaming as well at some point. But his screams were different than the traumatized ones of his brother. They were mostly cries of Dean's name, a countless attempts to get through to the oldest man, hollers driven and controlled by sheer fear and helplessness.

"Dean! Talk to me!" Sam shouted above Dean's hoarse cries when he shuddered in pain, looking like he was fighting against an invisible force, a force that was driving him insane and angry like hell. "What's going on? What do you see, Dean? Talk to me, man. Give me something!"

_I CAN'T! _Dean's internal scream echoed between the walls that enclosed around him but didn't reach over to his brother. He wished Sam could understand that he was trying his best to break free from the very thick bubble that isolated him, and that Sam's pleas and the stream of invisible words running through the hollow chamber of his own mind seemed strange and unreal. As if he had no self, no body, no remnant of that inner strength which quietly and automatically enabled him to deal with the world around him, and the world inside him.

Dean wished that Sam knew how the feeling of nothingness was settling over him, as if he was without emotions, out of control. Dead.

The searing pain that exploded from his heart the next minute was enough to hold his loud shrieks back; a tide of despair washed over him, writhing upward and pooling deep in his throat. He tried to turn over, wanting nothing but to let all of it out, but his exhausted body failed him. Instead, he felt his brother's arms turning him, supporting him firmly but gently, and before he even had the chance to brace himself, the blood flowed viciously out of his mouth.

Sam wrapped his arm around Dean's back as he quivered with the effort it took to throw his insides up, trying his best to keep a firm hold on the trashcan he had thankfully found close to the bed and fixed it under Dean's chin. Dean's retching was getting worse; the more blood came out, the darker it had become and the harder his body shook, forcing Sam to struggle to maintain a good grip around Dean's slack skin.

Dean's sudden, pained gasp was followed by Sam's frightened one at the sound of something snapping inside Dean's chest due to the force of heaving.

"AHH!" The oldest Winchester cried out after spitting the last mouthful of blood in the trashcan, feeling his broken rip rubbing against his lungs. He heard Sam calling his name a second later as he lay panting on his side, a big hand gripping his forearm, which he could see but couldn't feel.

"_Sam_," Dean whispered faintly. The fight was completely dying inside him, leaving him clueless at what was real and what was not. His vocabulary came down to only one word, the only name he could never forget, and he whispered it again and again like a lifeline.

"_Sammy_…"

Sam could have sworn he had felt his heart literally breaking within his chest. He tasted the salty tears as it ran down his cheeks to his lips and tightened his grip around Dean's forearm. "I'm here, Dean!" He shook Dean's arm, needing him to feel his presence, but Dean only repeated his name like a mantra, seemingly intending to do so till the last breath he had.

"Screw this!" Anger vanquishing his fear, Sam shot up to his feet, swaying for a moment for moving so fast before he regained his balance and searched for his cell phone. He found it near the bathroom doorway and picked it, ready to call an ambulance and get his brother _real_ help.

The phone rang in his hand, startling him before he had the chance to push the three buttons his fingers were fairly practiced to press, and the small screen flashed "Curt Walter", one of the hunters he had called _last night_, and what felt like a week ago.

"Hello?" He answered his phone in a tight tone after three rings of hesitation, ready to lash out at the man if he was calling to poke his nose into what he had no business knowing.

"_Sam, this is Walter. I reckon you called me last night, asking if the Mayan folks used anything poison-related to finish off their victims_," Sam flinched at the man's choice of the word "finish off" but was content that he at least was straight to the point.

He felt a slight glimmer of hope that maybe the hunter knew something, otherwise he wouldn't have summarized their last night's short chat, but he didn't dare to let himself hope too much. Not before he heard what the man had to say, and surely not before he saw Dean getting better with his own eyes.

"Yeah," Sam talked into the phone, voice rough from shouting and crying, and bit his bottom lip as he waited for the hunter to elaborate.

_"Well, I guess I know something that may be able to help your brother." _

_- **To be continued .. **_

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Does that get to call a cliffie ? I will that up to you *wink* Thanks for your reviews that really warms the heart! You guys are epic, and I really hope you enjoyed this chapter as well :) Let me know what you think .. and I'd love to hear your thoughts and expectations to what may happen next ;) Don't forget to review !

Thanks for reading,

Aya


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary & Disclaimer : **See previous chapters.

**Spoiler:** Heartache 8x03 - Season 8.

**Beta:** No one re-edited this chapter but me, so forgive me for any mistakes. :)

* * *

**-Breakable-**

**Chapter 8**

_"The town was paper, but the memories were not." ~John Green_

"_Sam, this is Walter. I reckon you called me last night, asking if the Mayan folks used anything poison-related to finish off their victims_," Sam flinched at the man's choice of the word "finish off" but was content that he at least was straight to the point.

He felt a slight glimmer of hope that maybe the hunter knew something, otherwise he wouldn't have summarized their last night's short chat, but he didn't dare to let himself hope too much. Not before he heard what the man had to say, and surely not before he saw Dean getting better with his own eyes.

"Yeah," Sam talked into the phone, voice rough from shouting and crying, and bit his bottom lip as he waited for the hunter to elaborate.

_"Well, I guess I know something that may be able to help your brother." _

Even though he tried, Sam couldn't help but cling to the thin sparkle of hope that wanted so badly to break through the cracks of his hopelessness. "What?!" He blurted out before he took a deep breath and a little calmly added, "I mean, what is it?"

The man on the other end of the line paused for a moment, seemingly rethinking the idea of helping the brothers. As Sam sensed the hunter's hesitation, he fought the urge to demand an answer from him not so politely and waited. He heard the man sigh before he finally spoke again. _"It isn't exactly it, it's who." _He paused again, letting his words sink in, then explained. _"A witch." _

Blinking, Sam wondered what could possibly make a hunter have a link with a witch. In his experience, witches were on the list of the monsters which wanted him and his brother nothing but dead, as well as the rest of the hunters species, let alone help them. They had used the help of one of Bobby's friends, Pamela, but she didn't exactly fall under the category of witches. She was a psychic, she wasn't the type to sell her soul and become some black-eyed's bitch. The woman _was_ really something. It still hurt that she had to be another name on the lost-ones-during-the-wincher's-quest list, which was fairly long.

"Okay?" He asked somewhat hesitantly, goading Walter to go on.

_"Look, Dean had saved my bacon once back in the day, and I owe him one." _Sam nodded though the hunter couldn't see him, finally knowing the reason why Dean had given him this man's number among many others, tagging with "You don't know when it's time to collect favors, Sammy!"

_"Even though nobody was able to get his hands on you two the whole past year, I ain't gonna stick my nose into your business. We all got our few stories that we'd rather not to share, eh, Sam?" _And Sam wasn't dumb. He got the hint, alright, and he wished the man was in front of him so he could strangle him for testing his patience.

"You got it, Curt. No one will know about your little secret affair with your lovely witch." He bit back, a smile taking over his features at the scowl he knew was most likely plastered on the hunter's face right now. _Man, why hunters always had to be dicks?_ He guessed it was probably a natural part of their swagger. "Now, are you ready for some serious talk?"

_"Dean wasn't wrong about you being the smart one in the family_," The hunter declared in amusement, and despite his leaking patience, Sam couldn't help but wonder what else his brother might have said about him to that hunter. _"Alright, down to business. She owes me a favor and I think it's about time she returns it. Give me the address of where she can find you boys and…"_

"We can go to her," Sam interrupted. He wasn't so keen on the idea of receiving a home visit from a _witch_. As a matter of fact, the whole idea wasn't setting in right with him. Since when did witches help people? He had to admit that Don did save his and Dean's lives twice, though, back in Indiana. But it was one in a million occasion through the many cases they had that involved witches, against all the bloody patterns they usually left behind. It didn't mean that they would find another good-hearted one at every turn. At least not with their luck. Yet he hoped he was damn wrong, and maybe luck would be on his side this time. It had to be.

_"Nah, I don't think so. She's not the… homey, fuzzy type; she doesn't welcome visitors. Well, not usually anyway. She prefers to lay low. It's for the best this way, you know." _

"Huh," The young man couldn't help but smirk. Apparently the hunter had a strong relationship with the woman after all. Purposefully ignoring Sam's polite remark, Walter continued, _"I'll send her to you boys and hopefully she'll be able to help Dean."_

The youngest Winchester's stomach dropped at the hunter's last words, reminding him of the seriousness of the situation. He turned his head reflexively towards his brother, who was still shaking but not calling for him anymore and had his eyes closed. Swallowing around the lump in his throat, he replayed, "Right. Ok,"

_"By the way, she's not that nice… let's say the woman can be a bitch sometimes. So, careful,"_ The man half-heartedly warned before he received a murmur of something like 'Typical' from Sam. _"Now, give me your address…"_

xxxx

An hour later Sam was sitting on the edge of his bed, waiting on nails for their visitor to show up as he watched Dean who was finally and blissfully asleep. After he had ended his call with Walter, he stood in the middle of the room, staring at the haggard form of his brother, lost in thoughts. It was starting to weigh on him. The responsibility of the mission of saving his brother and being the one to make the calls, order the shots, without anybody to give him directions or assure him that he was doing the right thing or even warn him to stop the hell right now. Through it all, a part of him still hoped it was just a dream, and he would snap out of it and find everything as it should be and his brother healthily digging another hunt and a pain in the ass as ever.

The gravity of the situation was all but pulling him down, making him aching to lie on the floor, might as well curl into a tight ball, and forget about the world—run away. _Yeah, like you did the last time._ He thought bitterly as the night when he had lost Dean a year ago at the filthy lab was repeating itself all over again. It was almost the same, except that his big brother, and the only family he had got left, was with him in the same room and taking what terrifyingly looked like his last breaths.

There was no room for being a coward, Sam knew. He knew also that he had to step up to the responsibility and take it upon himself to make sure Dean got better and finish what he had started the last night. He had to _not_ let his brother down this time.

Mentally shaking off his hesitation and trying to regain his confidence and believe that he was able to help Dean, Sam moved, fully intending to do whatever it took to shoulder that responsibility and be the _big_ brother for as long as he had to. Though, he prayed silently it wouldn't be _too_ long. As much as he had always tried to make his family back off and prove to himself and to them that he didn't need the full time protection or for anybody to take care of him, that he was capable enough to watch out for himself, he had _never_ coped well without Dean by his side. He had never been completely able to heave the burden of leading the ship alone up his shoulders or fill his brother's place, not that anybody could. It still haven't stopped him from trying, nonetheless.

Every time him and Dean had to separate there was always that gaping hole that lurked within his soul, a void that he could never fill. Maybe he could keep on living, go through the motions of the basic, daily rituals or even take the self-destruction path to distract him from the ever-present emptiness, but he could never get over losing Dean or not being around him—his brother, friend, protective, mother and father.

Even though it was one of the hardest things they both had to do during their whole life, they did separate a lot. Whether because one of them died, or Sam leaving for Stanford, or sneaking out from the motel room he shared with his brother a few times, and once to seek out answers and explanations for what his dad had asked Dean to do if he couldn't save him from the dark road he was heading to. They didn't even have to be physically separated to be apart from each other; there was these times Sam hadn't bothered to count, when he secretly met with Ruby to do some _practice_, which were mostly a mental and spiritual separation, the ones that really had left a wide crack in the trust Dean had in him.

Carrying on his musing, Sam's mind drifted to the time when each one of them went on his own—and even almost lost each other for good—for cautious reasons when Sam was being too much _distraction_ for Dean, because he couldn't afford spending more time worrying about his little brother than doing the job right, Dean had said. And even though Sam was the one to suggest the idea to split up, it still stung that Dean was so welling to let him go just like that. He had expected a fight, a couple of swears, followed by a punch at least, but they never came.

It was only a total agreement that Sam had received from Dean then, and he pretended that it hadn't just sliced him up before he got up and walked away, because whom was he kidding? He wasn't one to get all hurt and pouty when he was the professional at leaving everything behind, including his brother. _Well, some things don't change apparently. _Sam shook his head to stop the flow of emotions that swept over him and the stream of memories through his exhausted mind. He couldn't afford this now.

Sam finally sprang into action, picking up the first-aid kit and rummaged through it for what he knew was stocked there as a little insurance for the few times when one of them couldn't take the pain anymore. He knew that was where Dean was at the moment. Retrieving the small bottle of morphine and a set of syringes, Sam took one of them, filling it with a good dose of the clear liquid and went to Dean's side.

"Hey, Dean," The youngest Winchester began, knowing he wouldn't get an answer from the dazed man on the bed but doing it anyway. "I know you hate these stuff, man, but I can't stand watching you in so much pain anymore. You know I have to do something as long as I can." _You wouldn't hesitate to do it if the tables were turned. _The last thought rang inside his head as he gently pried Dean's right arm from where he had secured it around his chest to unconsciously ease the pain the broken rib was causing.

Sam knew his brother hated the feeling of fuzziness and floatiness that heavy drugs were always accompanied with. He knew also the main reason why his brother did; the drugs weren't usually to wear off easily for Dean, and the longer he was succumbed to their power, the more vulnerable he was and the longer he couldn't protect himself, or his little brother. Dean wasn't doing much good right now, though, and it didn't matter that he had a sedative running through his system as long as it relieved the pain. He wasn't in a shape to be able to defend himself either ways.

Softly inserting the needle into the skin of the crook of his brother's arm, Sam injected the medicine and sighed deeply before he withdrew the syringe. He looked up to find Dean's pain-glazed eyes staring back at him, recognition gleaming into them. Still resting his hand on Dean's forearm, Sam stretched his arm and put his other hand on his brother's shoulder, squeezing gently.

"Get some rest, Dean. It's gonna be okay." Sam said with conviction he didn't really have, watching Dean's eyes blink heavily at him. A low, "I promise," escaped his lips before he could stop himself as Dean's eyes fully closed.

**-_To be continued .. _**

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**A/N: **I get that the chapter was short, but you realize that it's kinda a bridge chapter to reach to the "comfort" part of the story. Doesn't mean there won't be some "hurt and angst" in the middle too, right? *wink* I could have continued and we'd have a longer chapter instead of this one but it'd have taken me more time to get it done, and I wanted to give you guys something before season 9 premier :) Hopefully the next chapter will be up sooner this time since it's already in progress.

I hope you liked the chapter, and please review and tell me what you think :)

Thanks for reading!

Aya x


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: **I know I am late and I'm really sorry! When I though the feast vacation was going to be a good break from life and I would be able to finish two chapters at least, if not the whole story, turned out that I was deadly wrong and was loaded with endless work to do. So here, sorry again!

Want to thank everybody who reviewed the previous chapter, alarms from every kind, thank you so much :) You guys Rock! Here's the longest chapter so far in this story to make it up for you guys. I really hope like it :)

**Summary & Disclaimer : **See previous chapters.

**Warning : **For a bit of language.

**Spoilers : **Heartache - 8x03

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**-Breakable-**

**Chapter 9**

_This could be a shipwreck on the shore_,  
_ Or we could sail away forevermore_?  
_ This time it's sink or swim, sink or swim._

**_..._**

It's been about half an hour since Walter had called to inform him that Laureen, the witch, was on her way to them, but for Sam it felt like it's been ages and he was pacing the room back and force almost manically. Dean on the other hand was thankfully asleep since Sam had administered the morphine into his system, and for that the younger Winchester was grateful.

He had left the room only for five minutes to get the weapons bag from behind their room where he had dumped it when the cops showed up earlier and stuffed it with the extra things he needed from the car's trunk. Getting back inside, he checked on Dean, who was still dead to the world, then he tried to change the sheets of the bed but he couldn't move Dean now, so he just tried to wash as much of the blood stains as possible, using a clean towel, and pulled a clean sheet over his brother before he started to work.

He salted the windows and the room's door again, fetched the red spray can from the bag and quickly cut through the rough rug in the door's entrance with his pocket knife and quickly but expertly drew a devil's trap sigil there, lying the torn carpet back in place and efficiently hiding the symbol.

Letting out a sigh, Sam finished his work by sitting a couple of charms in hidden places, a silver dagger within easy reach and hooked Dean's .45 in the back of his jeans. The weight of the gun was reassuring, tugging at his waistband with some sense of safety, and only the fact that the gun was Dean's, practically a piece of his brother, grounded him. And it was all he needed at the moment.

Sam didn't want to take any chances, not when his brother's life was the one on the line. God only knew about the hell Dean was going to give him when he discovered he had got him a help from a witch. Giving the idea a second thought, Sam hoped Dean would kick his ass for it later as long as it meant that they got through this safely. Because the alternative was nowhere near what Sam was desperately waiting for.

The knock on the door, which seemed too loud to Sam's ears after the silence he had been surrounded by for almost an hour, startled him, almost made him jump. Taking a deep breath, Sam stole a quick glance at Dean, drawing courage from his brother's slumped posture on the bed, and walked to the door. He squared his shoulders before his hand, which he noticed was slightly shaking, curled around the doorknob and twisted it.

Once the door was open, the sight of a woman in her mid thirties, folding her arms over her chest, greeted him. She had a short wavy, black hair, smooth brown skin and dark brown eyes and was a bit shorter than Dean, Sam noticed. Before he got the chance to open his mouth, the woman spoke.

"Are you going to stare at me all day or let me in?" She taunted with a hint of irritation, quirking an eyebrow at him.

Sam cleared his throat loudly, taking a step aside. "Laureen, I assume." He said as he saw her bind over and come up with a black duffel bag.

"You knew that all by yourself?" Laureen entered the room, scattering the line of salt in her wake, crossing over where Sam had drawn the sigil, and walked to the table on which she placed the bag. She took off her jeans jacket, revealing a long sleeve, dark shirt with a big cross hanging from the necklace around her neck, already making herself at home.

Sam closed the door after peeking outside at the quiet parking lot and watched the witch as she made it to the table, unaffected by any of the protections he had planted.

"So, Walter told you what you needed to do?" Seeing it was obviously going to be a pain in the ass to deal with that woman, Sam went down right to business. Laureen was already staring at Dean who was lying vulnerably on the bed, oblivious to the eyes that were watching him curiously, and her eyes darkened a little. Sam moved and stood in front of her, blocking her view with his wide frame and shielding Dean from her curious gaze.

He hated that someone else had to witness a moment of his brother's vulnerability, hated that someone else was going to help his brother instead of him—at least he hoped she would. He knew he had no choice, but it wasn't going to stop him from helping and protecting Dean as much as he could.

"Cute," Laureen smirked, her eyes flickering from Dean to rest on Sam's chest, clearly understanding the younger sibling's intentions. "Well, first of all, Sam, I'm not a demon," She cut in once again before Sam could protest, titling her head slightly towards the devil's trap under the carpet before she raised her right hand and the sliver dagger flew in the air from where Sam had put it and perfectly landed in the witch's hand that was already closing around the hilt a second after. "Or whatever else you might think I am."

"Can't be too careful," Sam said in a tight voice, slightly taken aback by the woman's demeanor.

"Second of all, I'm here to help you. So you might as well get out of my way a little." She continued as if he hadn't said anything and Sam found his anger rising. Walter wasn't kidding when he said she wasn't all that friendly, that he gave him, but Sam didn't expect her to get on his nerves that much.

"Then quit bitching already!" He snapped, too exhausted to keep his anger in check.

"Well," Said Laureen ever so calmly, pulling the chair next to the table and sitting down, crossing her legs and arms. "You play with my rules, your brother's healed. We play with yours, get Curt on the phone and tell him to kiss my ass. Choice is yours."

"You owe him!" Sam all but exploded, the fear of losing the only help he could get his hands on fueling his anger.

"I owe no one nothing, darling." She told him, playing with the silver dagger now. "Curt thinks he's so special to ask me to do whatever he wants so he asked me to come here, but I didn't come here for him, I coulda just told him that I'd make it up for him in other, _hotter_, ways and he woulda forgotten about you boys without a second thought."

"Then why are you here?" Sam challenged; the fear anything but squeezing his heart."

"You kidding me?" Standing up again, Laureen took the two steps that separated her and Sam. "Getting the chance to do _The_ Winchesters a favor is something you don't get to do every Friday night, kid." Oh, the things she would ask for later. She thought amusingly.

"You're afraid of us." It was neither a question nor a statement. It was almost as if he was thinking out loud. Laureen, though, didn't say anything. She just locked eyes with him, raising the hand with the dagger and rested the tip of the blade lightly on his chest. She slid it along his shirt in a quirky pattern, making herself clear that she was far from scared from them and even could kill him on the spot if she wanted to.

Gasping softly, Sam wondered how he let her get that close in the first place before he gripped her wrist tightly and moved her hand and the knife away from his chest but he was abruptly met with an invisible barrier. A second later he felt the pressure of the room around him increase as a field of energy wrapped him fast, paralyzing all his movements, leaving only the slight space for his chest to expand so he could barely breathe.

Sam tried to fight it back but he couldn't. He glared at the witch whose eyes went darker, deeper, then looked back at their joined hands around the knife and tried to break his hold around the hilt but found a crushing power keeping his fingers in place. The only thing he could think of at that moment was the huge mistake he made and the massive mess he got himself and Dean into when he had allowed the witch to enter the room—scratch that, when he had given the hunter their address.

The pressure was suddenly gone; causing his knees to buckle as he unexpectedly went back to being responsible for holding up his own weight. Sam stretched a hand behind him and managed to get a hold onto his bed, stopping himself mid-fall, before he turned his eyes to the woman in front of him who was smiling smugly at him.

"What the hell was that for?" He meant to shout, but it came out in a shaky intake of breath.

"A lesson to respect who are way more powerful than you, showing off, setting red lines, call it what you want." Laureen shrugged, heading back to the table and opened the bag, emptying its contents on the table.

Sam stood where he was, speechless to say the least. He wondered whether to make the witch leave before it was too late or hold on to the thin thread of hope and do the only thing he could do then—_trust_ her.

"You can trust me." She said, not looking up from the job in hands.

"What? You can read minds too?" He scoffed; the power of the witch starting to overwhelm him.

Laureen actually laughed at that and despite everything, Sam found the way she laughed a bit amusing. "No. I just can tell that's what you'd be thinking right now. You're too easy to read." She shook her head almost fondly before her all-business face slipped back in place. "So, what it's gonna be?" She asked, finally turning to face Sam, who looked startled by the question.

"Can you help him?" Sam asked after a long pause, his voice thick with emotions, on the verge of pleading, as he turned his head and stared at his comatose brother.

There was another long pause, from Laureen this time, which made Sam turn panicky eyes in her direction, almost afraid that she would be gone. She was staring at Dean now just as well, but this time it wasn't the look of curiosity a doctor wore when he found a new challenge to prove himself and add to his career, instead, she was looking at his brother with what was the closest thing to compassion.

Sam's hope and anger flared in his chest equally; hope that the witch would eventually help Dean without pulling any tricks or carrying out her threat despite the tough appearance she wore—and anger because Dean was a fighter, a survivor and the strongest person he had ever known, and no one should be looking at him with anything except for admiration, or fear.

"Yes." No sarcastic or angry retort this time, Sam noticed, wondering why but pleased with the confidence he heard in the lady's voice.

Without further words, Laureen walked to the bed on which Dean lay, Sam on her heels, both stood at each side of the bed. Sam watched as she took Dean's left arm in her hands, her fingers finding the underside of his wrist and pressing gently as she started to take his vitals. A frown formed on her forehead before she rested Dean's hand back on the bed and laid her palm on his brow and forehead.

Surprisingly, Dean's breath hitched as the touch seemed to set off an alarm in his hunter's instincts and he weakly tried to pull away but didn't wake up. Sam shared a concerned look with Laureen, already holding his brother's forearm and squeezed gently. "It's okay." Sam whispered rapidly. "It's okay, I gotcha, Dean." Even deep in drug-induced sleep, Sam's voice seemed to reach his brother as he calmed down immediately and settled down again.

Sam looked up at Laureen, who had withdrawn her hand away, and gave her a tight nod. Nodding back she leaned over, assessing Dean's head wound while Sam provided her with everything he knew about what was happening to his brother.

"What did you give him?" Laureen asked at last, having yet to check Dean's chest wounds and broken rib.

"I gave him painkillers last night but with all the..._blood_ he kept throwing up I couldn't think of anything else but a shot of morphine." Sam answered, running a nervous hand through his hair, his eyes never leaving his brother.

"You did the right thing there, Sam. He was probably going into a shock from the pain." Laureen found herself trying to comfort him, surprising herself and Sam, finally looking up and gave him a small smile which he couldn't react to; he gave a small nod at last before she asked, "When did you give it to him?"

"'Bout two hours and half ago," Sam answered after glancing quickly at his watch.

"He'll be waking up soon then." She said as she went back to the table. Sam didn't know whether to be happy or sick about that thought of Dean waking up and feeling all the horrible pain all over again.

The young hunter stayed by his brother's side, watching the woman pick up a dark box, a silvery bag, a small bottle and some clean bandage and come back to where she was standing earlier. Laureen sat at Dean's hip, placing everything on the bed just as well. Opening the dark box, she picked a blood pressure cuff, slipped it around Dean's upper arm and took his blood pressure. A couple of minutes later, she took off the cuff, shaking her head, and obliviously increasing Sam's anxiety, before she tore the silvery bag open and retrieved an IV set and prepared the tubing.

"What is that for?" Sam asked from where he stood, watching her carefully as she took Dean's left hand in hers and wiped the back of his hand with a pad dipped in alcohol.

"Relax. It's just a glucose drip to boost his energy system a little." Laureen said calmly, already inserting the needle into Dean's hand, which twitched as the needle pierced his skin but with Sam's hand holding his other forearm firmly still, he relaxed again. "His vitals are very low; blood pressure and body temperature are too low, pulse's very fast an erratic … his body's most likely shutting down."

Sam's heart leapt to his throat before it sank hard to his knees as he listened to Laureen's words. He was dragged back to the action when she asked him—again—to get a glucose bottle from her bag then she asked him to find a suitable surface where they could hook the bottle in a high level.

"You said he fell, that's how he cut his head. Do you know if he has a concussion?" The witch asked as she uncovered Dean's chest.

"I—" Sam stammered, his thoughts rattling through his brain. "I don't know." He found himself saying, feeling a lot dumber than he had ever felt for not checking if Dean had a concussion right after his fall. Amid everything that happened and how fast the events of the last night were going, he forgot. He had bigger priorities and concerns, like a big brother who wasn't breathing, the same big brother who was screaming in agony and coughing and throwing up blood for the rest of the night.

"He thought I was a monster," Sam whispered, mostly to himself. "Maybe that's why he was confused?" He turned his head and looked at Laureen, who already had a penlight in her hand and was checking Dean's eyes.

"He doesn't have one." She said, tucking the pen back in her jeans' pocket and went to the small kitchenette with an unreadable expression.

"Dean?" Sam whispered when he heard Dean's pained groan. He crouched low beside him and gently shook his arm. "Are you with me?"

"No. He isn't." Came the answer from the witch, making the younger brother turn his attention to her.

"How do you know?"

"I just do." Laureen Said as she washed her hands and came back to the bed. "I need to check the chest wounds now." She told Sam.

"What do you mean 'you just do'? What the hell is going on?" Sam snarled, full-on protective mood.

"I can't tell you what's going on until you let _me_ do my fucking job!" She shouted back, earning them both another groan from Dean.

"Hey, hey! It's okay, man." Sam whispered, focusing back on his brother and tried his best to bite his tongue and let the damn witch do her "fucking job" but not before sending a death glare in her direction.

Taking a deep breath, Laureen regained her coolness and told Sam to keep his contact with Dean in case he felt any pain in the process. She peeled of the bandage off Dean's chest, taking another deep breath as she came face to face with the source of the problem, and then started to inspect the wounds thoroughly.

"Looks fine," She said finally, her brows furrowing and meeting at the bridge of her nose.

"I know. That's why I don't know what's going on with him. That why you're here!" Sam snapped a little at her.

"You put these stitches?" She looked back at him, ignoring his words. Sam nodded. "Good job." She had to admit; it was getting harder by each passing second to treat the youngest Winchester like crap—like she always treated everybody. The fear that was washing over him for his brother was familiar to her, if not finding a way to pass through from him to her.

Sam would be lying if he said he understood how the witch's mind worked, not that he had much time to know anyway. It was just strange, the way she was trying so hard to show a personality she probably wasn't, and how she was trying to bury the good part of herself and cover it with the entire bitchy I-don't-give-a-damn role. Like she was afraid she'd slip if she showed otherwise, that it would weaken her the moment she did. He knew the drill pretty damn well. He had been living with the master of manipulation his whole life that he could spot the case wherever he crossed it.

Sam wasn't going to give it much thought, though. He didn't care how this woman acted or which path in life she chose. All he cared about was that she was able to help Dean. He tensed as he watched Laureen place her right hand flat over his brother's heart and he tightened his hold on Dean's forearm, but making sure it was still gentle.

Both of their attention was drawn from Dean's chest to his face as he gasped at the contact with the witch's hand. Sam's free hand moved by instinct to push Laureen away but she spoke before he could touch her.

"I'm not hurting him." She said quietly, closing her eyes. "Just don't let go of him."

Fighting against every instinct he had, Sam pulled his hand back, resting it on Dean's arm instead while the other hand moved to his shoulder. Dean stiffened all over, his breath coming out in short gasps, and as Sam saw, the dark liquid that he has been watching flowing through his brother's vines seemed to head and gather in one spot. Dean's heart. After few minutes, Laureen opened her eyes and pulled her hand.

"It's not a poison." She told the young man who was looking at her with pleading eyes. "It's a curse."

"A curse?" Sam repeated incredulously.

"Yes. Never heard of them?" She mocked, standing up and fastening the IV drip.

"What curse?" Sam asked again, trying to maintain his patience.

"It's not quite common, but in some special rituals, priests tended to put curses on their victims before the sacrifice was performed." Laureen explained. "This way they insured the sacrifice was made, no matter the circumstances in case the priest failed in his mission."

"How are these special rituals different than the other ones?" Sam interrupted. "Aside from the curse part, I mean." He added fast, sparing himself an extra sarcastic reply.

Laureen walked to the table, starting to work on her next move before she answered Sam's question. "It depended on the victim. Worriers and the heroes' material got special treatment; like getting cursed. You don't want to let this particular sacrifice go to waste. Some serious, twisted, witchcraft, if you ask me." She chuckled ironically at that.

"Makes sense," A haunted expression was itched on Sam's face before he asked, "Do you know how to break it?" He looked at dean then turned his eyes to rest on the witch.

"Big chance, yes." She sighed, seeing that Sam wasn't about to accept that for an answer. "This kind of curses is one manipulative, pain in the ass one. It attacks, not only the body, but also the person from the inside. Meaning, it fires the body with unexplainable pain as much as it screws with the person's mind, feelings and emotions. It traps the victim in their own head, where the rational and logical side of the brain is dimmed and no longer in control. Unlike the emotional side, that is.

"Fortunately, it's easy to break, but it also depends on how much the person fights, and with the fact that we're not too late, before any of the emotions triggered any serious damage, that also helps. Dean here is most likely trapped in his own mind; his subconscious to be specific. He will be able to hear us and see us but not able to interact with anything around him. Therefore, his mind is trying to protect him from all the physical and psychological abuse, so he's forced to hide someplace safe in his mind. But we need to bring him back with us so he can fight, and that's where the hard part lies."

"And how we gonna do that?" Sam asked, uncertainty lacing his tone as he tried to absorb the information.

Lauren hesitated, looking at Dean then back at him. "I'm gonna have to call him. From the inside." She explained.

"You mean—you mean, you're gonna get into his mind?" Sam asked, askance. Laureen nodded.

"You sure it's gonna work?" He asked after a long pause.

"Let's hope so." She turned her eyes to Dean. "It's the only way, but it's your choice."

Sam nodded, tears swimming in his eyes as he contemplated his options, but what choice did he really have? It was either trust Laureen and give her the permission to enter Dean's head—hopefully save him, or try to find another way, which he wasn't sure was even going to work and would take more time to find, time Dean probably didn't have.

"Okay." Sam gave in and nodded tightly, keeping his eyes on the rise and fall of Dean's chest.

"OK." Replied Laureen. She came back to Dean's side with a syringe in her hand and reassured Sam that it was just a mix of medicines to help with Dean's weakened state, explained what each substance was for, before she administrated the liquid into Dean's IV line and went back to the table and sat on the chair.

"Now, what?" Sam asked anxiously.

"Now we wait till the meds kick in and the morphine wears completely off."

"Why not now? At least he won't be in pain." Sam suggested in a five year old tone.

"You're probably right, but he's too weak to handle it right now. Plus, he has to be aware as much as possible during the process."

Taking a step back, Sam nodded and slid down to the floor so he was sitting between the two beds, his knees up, his back to the nightstand and his head beside Dean's. He still had his hand over Dean's forearm, afraid that if he let go, Dean would fall where he could never find him again.

"How do you know how to do all of this?" Sam asked after a long while. Laureen looked at him questionably. "The medical stuff. I thought you're a witch." He explained in a skeptical tone.

"I am a witch." Laureen confirmed. "But I'm also a doctor."

"What?" Sam almost squeaked. "What do you mean?"

The woman sighed, turning her eyes to star at her huge medical-kit on the table, looking a knee deep in thoughts about what she was supposed to say next. It was when Sam thought that she wasn't going to answer him that Laureen finally spoke in a low voice.

"I was technically a doctor, before I became a witch." She started, eyes resting on Sam but seemingly looking too many years away. "My mother was a witch and—traditionally—she was supposed to pass me some of her powers when I turned sixteen, introduce a new-born witch to the world." She added bitterly before she continued, "But I didn't want that, I wanted to be… normal, you know?" Laureen blinked back at him then, the distant look on Sam's face and the way he clutched Dean's forearm tighter were lost on her as she went on.

"So, the night I turned sixteen I… ran. I lived with my uncle, who protected me from my mother and took me in. I found a job at a diner and was able to save money till I turned eighteen and applied for medicine school and began living on my own." Something about these two boys made her feel oddly exposed, made her soul feel strangely lighter. It was hard to keep up with the tough act around Sam, as well as the unconscious man on the bed whom she didn't even interact with yet.

Something about those two _souls_ made her willing to share some of the details she had never shared with anybody before; an urging need to unfold the too many layers that kept her safe and tucked away along the years washed over her. The vibes of unconditional love and protectiveness, yet a lot of tension and too much confusion and hurt she was receiving from the brothers made the words flow out from a place deep within her with a surprising ease.

"I continued in the program for three years before I knew from my uncle that my sister was very sick—was dying. There was no _natural_ ways to heal her." Her voice broke slightly as she stared at Sam but not seeing him anymore. "Our mother was too weak to perform a healing session at her age and there was no one else who could do it but me. It has been always me, my sister and mother. I went back home, complied with my destiny and my mother had to transfer all her powers to me then, getting her killed in the process." Laureen chuckled bitterly, turning her head to stare at a point next to Sam's head on the wall.

"But I still couldn't save Tina anyway. She was only eleven, which made me more determined to become a doctor. And I did. Only difference between me and other doctors is that I sometimes use my powers when the medicine couldn't work alone." With that, she drew a long, heavy sigh, pulling herself back from the crystal fog of her past and looked back at the brothers with teary eyes.

Sam was staring back at here with understanding shining in his eyes, taking in every detail of her story that was filled with a surge of emotions that made him speechless. Laureen smiled kindly at him, seeing his expression, free from judgment, from accusation that she was selfish to leave it all behind in the wake of trying to prove herself, to find her own personality in the right place, where she meant to be and could really help.

Clearing her throat from the chocked emotions, she once again turned her attention to her patient. "So, about Dean… From what I've heard about both of you, I think he's a fighter. I'm sure he's gonna pull through." She found herself suddenly saying.

"Yeah," Sam blinked back unshed tears, nodding repeatedly before he looked down at his brother's face that was slightly pinched in pain. "Yeah, I know he will."

**- _To be continued .. _**

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**Song : Sink or Swim by Tyrone Wells.**

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- So we'll wait.. But I'll try my best for shorter while this time :) What do you think of the new character, Laureen? Did you like the chapter in general and how the story seems to be going ? I really would like to hear your thoughts. Reviews are much appreciated!

Thanks for reading,

Aya


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